Postcards Ïom the Northwest caitlin mackenzie
to my father
I worry about the weak valve, half agape, failing your heart. I worry about your asthma in December, then again in May, and the guilt that suppresses breath and pulse. Tell me again it’s ok, though I know it’s my turn to speak.
to my mother
I’m fine. I have enough money to drink soda with dinner. Stars can be seen from the downtown center. I came for mystery, to alight into the unknown. Please don’t take it to mean I reject the familiar, the familial. The heart is just so fragile around its own.
to my brother
We both settled on the easterly arm of the pacific ring of fire. Do you think it’s a coincidence? What you call liberation, I call abandonment. We fell from the paternal spine into sand licked clean by salt waves.