House quieter this morning, although I know
Somewhere the river. Somewhere
You listening for currents, dark ghost
Swirling in the eel grass, taking shape. Then
Footsteps, a memory—ice breaking
In shallows, rivulets, still cold. Somewhere
—When was it?—we lived beside a river.
Water swift, too high, so the bank seemed
Dangerous, no edge or lip—
Listen to the river.
I know it's distant now,
The sound of a body splashing there
Alone, waiting. Who was it? Did we know?
Our eyes are cluttered, a lifetime's flotsam
Hoarded in a house we'll never leave.
The water is frozen but the ground is soft.
Pull me down as if I were—I am—
The stranger trembling in the weeds.
TODAY IN SLATE
The Ebola Story
How our minds build narratives out of disaster.
The Budget Disaster That Completely Sabotaged the WHO’s Response to Ebola
PowerPoint Is the Worst, and Now It’s the Latest Way to Hack Into Your Computer
The Shooting Tragedies That Forged Canada’s Gun Politics
A Highly Unscientific Ranking of Crazy-Old German Beers
Welcome to 13th Grade!
Some high schools are offering a fifth year. That’s a great idea.
The Actual World
“Mount Thoreau” and the naming of things in the wilderness.