Mary Peelen

From the kitchen window, the garden hose is a thin green line. We don’t notice the way it curls inside, hiding more than it shows – dimension flattens with distance, like plant matter in the terrible drought. It’s been so hot, Antarctica cracked in two. I wonder when the panic will set in. Coiled as secrets inside a marriage, the earth has interior shape bound into a space so small it unites electromagnetism and gravity. No place for resentment or annoyance, lies grow white and disappear.