-The way that deadbeat fits into those opening lines.
-How much of our memory is anchored to sensory details?
-Why do words like sarcophagus, jowls and coconut feel right in a poem like this?
-Each time Gale stops typing, she rests her hands in home position.
-The space in this poem isn’t passing judgment.
-The symmetry of coffee grounds on the granite counters.
-Are we building or surviving or recovering? The poem evolves in a way that allows for all of these.
-Houses as boxes where memories are stored.
-Various soundtrack options for this poem ranked from worst to best: “Rock On” by Michael Damian, “Rave On” by Buddy Holly, “Dream On” by Aerosmith, “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin, “Float On” by Modest Mouse, “Hold On” by Tom Waits. (I’m concerned that Stevie Nicks is nowhere on this list.)
-Song that actually does come to mind but doesn’t do justice to the poem: “In My Life”
-Expand the idea of a home until it feels celestial/astronomical.
-Floods, leaks, volcanoes: forces that remake the landscape.
-Fragments of text act as rooms.
-A relationship with a room; the way a room can hold you.
-…still walk all night in the bare mulch
-I keep seeing paintings by Jeremy Miranda.
-The poem comes back to transparency. Glass/windows. Should we see the body as a sort of room that holds identity?
-Leaks as nagging echoes to be ignored.
-The ocean and its echoes are different.
-The language of the poem has both echoes (children, arms, welcome) and near-echoes (pox/foxtrot, siphoning/cipher)
-The use of repetition and variation makes me think about alternate timelines. Decisions create branches. The narrative doesn’t need to be linear.
-In a poem where place plays a major role, we end with movement.
-Providence makes me wonder who’s watching over this poem.
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Rob MacDonald lives in Boston and is the editor of Sixth Finch. His poems can be found in Gulf Coast, BOAAT, Jellyfish, Sink Review, inter|rupture, DIAGRAM and other journals. He has books forthcoming from Rye House Press and Racing Form Press.