email to Catherine


C. Buchanan

I Google Mapped your house tonight, satellite view,

and zoomed in as far as I could, a virtual fly-over

wagging my imaginary wings.

Strange world we live in.


Does isolation breed the past?

With the present stalled in its tracks

and the future a black hole, we go wandering

through the doors we never locked behind us.


True anonymity is to die in a plague.

Culture steam-shoveled into a common grave.

No chorus left to sing our hallelujah.

Your house from the sky is dark at night,

but on Google Maps the past sun never sets,

that truck in the drive you sold two years ago.