Das Unheimlich

"...intellectual uncertainty; so that the uncanny would always, as it were, be something one does not know one’s way about in."

~Ernst Jentsch, On the Psychology of the Uncanny

a turtle's shell slowly

decomposing in the weeds

of a cemetery

how many unmarked remains

under these stones

her memories

the plucked strings

the end notes of sadness

this is not how to play the violin

but how to feel it

I am reposting a tanka written several years ago. My mom painted the ceramic cat to honor our 12-year-old cat who had recently died. Today is also the anniversary of when my mom passed away. We miss you.

the flowered cat
in its new home
her eyes catch
the same sunlight
you had while you were painting

empowering

native plants through

honeysuckle removal

the bee balm

restoring itself

tabletop launch pad--

the matchbox car 

rockets into space

before splashing down

in the cat's water bowl

the two of us exploring 

the kimmswick bone bed

what would it be like 

to stand in the shadow

of a mastodon

vacation pictures 

taken at the edge of a cliff

the past not nearly

as exhilarating as when

it was our future

I still have

the mirror you gave me

with its gold-plated roses

not long after you

dislocated my jaw

another layer added

to the earth's core

so many chapters 

in this novel 

we may never finish

reclaiming

some lost territory 

from my childhood

 the imprint of pebbles 

 on the soles of my feet

Shaw Nature Reserve