you’ve gathered these, are offering on our shared table of days,
you’ve gathered these for me – but she’s on my mind. I’m sorry. I’m looking at our shared table and thinking of her
she’s not a woman to wear earrings, a locket, maybe to carry seashells, maybe those reminders of a beach, a cliff
they’re vessels, I’m choosing to think of them as vessels
the suitcase for objects that were never hers
the seashells for memories I’ve invented
I would like to have memories of us
vessels have outsides, insides, peering
I’ve sent her an email. I wrote many things, including, Loan me your compass,
a comma, an appeal. now I’m waiting
my friend, forgive me. it is easier to think of her, hope her compass will help
it’s all I can do to ignore why I need the compass
you’ve gathered, are offering, our shared table of days
I am quiet and spend two days just looking
you’ve spread these, solitary
my head onto your heart
I promise to come back tomorrow, my only promise,
choosing again each day
the crowded sky
we are speaking, I am listening,
it is speech
along the road, the never-dry ditch and mud above your ankles.
you told me but I don’t remember the name,
so rare, you want one for your garden
we stand around and invite strangers to stand around and watch
every moment, a first
the truth is, I tilt my head and want to say,
this opening heart &
the air, it is uncomfortable.
I don’t think I want this to be secret, but I am anxious.
I just saw
movement, the burst of sun,
I felt the leaving.
so beyond remedy,
we can’t speak it,
and look instead
at these strong and lovely.
offering, this opening heart
Mr. Rogers said,
It’s not the size of the family, it’s the quality of the love.
I’m not being ironic, this made me feel less disappointing.
we stood by the lake
and wanted to know, what kinds of animals, how many bees, are those stairs
and we listened to the freeway
just within touch
then loose and distracted
we miraculously felt stillness
a closure of moonlight
I can’t tell, I don’t know what I feel.
I walked past a field
uncertainty, specific rocks, that number of blossoms, not this path.
the clouds weren’t speaking to me, but we were connected, in relation
they encouraged me, calmed me, reminded me.
I was less lonely
has this ever happened to you
we found miners lettuce under the pine tree, you made a salad, and I knew we were in California
sharper now, not uncomfortable, but clear, emerged to
pale eyes and bright sun, commuting and tired eyes
I said, I’m unsure about what happens next
I mean, I’m still unsure at every moment
Sarah Klein creates narrative and abstract stop-motion animations with paper cutouts and live-action footage. In her print based work she reveals hidden animations through common and uncanny forms. Klein’s work has been shown worldwide, including the Museum of Contemporary Art, Zagreb, HR, General Public in Berlin, DE, Aurora Picture Show, Houston, TX, Anthology Film Archives, New York, NY and in multiple Mill Valley Film Festivals, CA. Klein has received awards from the Trust for Mutual Understanding, Zellerbach Family Foundation and an Alternative Exposure Grant from Southern Exposure. She is the founder of the Stop & Go animation festival.
Erin Wilson’s writing has appeared in various places, including the journals Word for Word, Bird Dog, and Boog City, and the books hinge (Crack Press, 2002), Building is a Process/Light is an Element (P-Queue/Queue Books, 2008), and Kindergarde (Black Radish, 2015). Her chapbooks are Alphabet Garden: A Booklist (Edible Office), The Ominous, Beautiful Bay: The Newest Ginnie Blake Novel (HmH Services), and 140 Books I Read in the Last 2.5 Years and Really Liked (Recent/Relevant). She was an Affiliate Artist at the Headlands Center for the Arts (2013-2016), and is a librarian living in Berkeley, CA.