"I've got news"

Mark's getting married. He tells me this almost incidentally, embedded in the bottom of a long email about the weather. I understand the struggle to do it right, but when you've got the luxury of time and editing tools you'd think you'd erase the bumbling parts before you hit Send.

I'd like to tell you that 13 years is enough time to pass by--that I can be big about it.

In honor, in closure, from the archive:

Things You Can Do with a Box of Tissues

1. Tear off the cover and quickly press the box to your ear, all in one motion.
Some days the sound of the rain makes her start with fear.

2. Try to float a tissue on your breath.
Falling bodies accelerate forever.

3. A tissue held over the eyes turns the whole room white. Or blue.
The sun is our enemy, she swears when the light returns.

4. Assemble a pile of tissues, a pencil, and a cup and saucer on the table in front of you. Gently blow on each in turn and record what you feel.
Sammie hears the sound of her own breathing in a dream.

5. Burn a hole in one with your tongue.
She has staunched the bleeding and waits now for the dizziness to subside.

6. Place tissues on your face, hands, and legs, and lie quite still.
After dark, footfalls on the stairs.

7. Tape the empty box to a mirror and stare at it raptly.
All those years. All those years.

8. Press your mouth to the empty box and laugh.
Whose tears are these like pearls?

9. Drip water over tissues. Try to do this in precise time with the beating of your heart.
To be the vessel of the whole world. How marvelous.