The Unspeakable Cruelty of the Left Hand

The Unspeakable Cruelty of the Left Hand

Visual Noise

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Recollection

Finding your scarf, I recalled [telling you twenty percent
of people die of cancer. Amazed, you asked
what percent of people die—like you
could only measure sorrow (within the width
of its loom. When I first met you I knew I must begin
to practice for grief, its unspooled margins. My scarf
always ended too soon to warm both our necks,
so I asked you) to hold on to it. Filled with fire
these days, in the legacy of remembered things, would you
consume the living with your lack of needing?
What I am] asking is really a favor. What I am
asking you is: would you still like to keep it, where
you are, or all the scarves now good enough?