For Strange Women

Grandmother. The pines are already so cold, I think winter blows through the forest. The skies are glistening cool camphor, the White Lady gathers late herbs, breathes menthol and makes the oranges disappear, sprinkles eucalyptus...

The soft creak of stretching planks, the gurgle of waves steering you, you imagine yourself in a waking state, your boat drifting through alien coastal mudflats, no oars, only seaweed and bright green seaweed, creeping along the edge of your...