i bite and watch my phone’s suggestion. a year ago today in Warszawa. the year unravels backward in a video: warm-lit kitchen holding what kitchens hold. three generations of survivors, plum brandy, laughter, a tomato travelled in a dishcloth from a southern town. the year unravels backward and i hold the shape of a family unmade. the year unravels backward and today i nail a trellis for grapevines to ache toward. today i hold things in my hand: severed blackberry root, my lover’s swollen forearm, the cat’s soft jaw, a book, a can of beer, a hammer.