We are posting our last wills and testaments, our final messages to our loved ones
and to the people who do not care, on what the Brobdingnagians call Tiktok.
We struggle to find the right music. Lucy Dacus, Weird Al Yankovic.
We display our treasures with the hushed reverence of game show hosts
describing the mega ultra jackpot, which consists of a new car
and your very own game show where you can display the fashions of Ricardo Montalbon.
“To my beloved Annabell, this is cat food. The cats here are the size of Shetland ponies,
and the Shetland ponies are the size of buses. This cat food may look normal dry food
but within lies a succulent, soft, meaty center. It is like my love for you. It is much to consider.”
“To Robert: this cat toy, the size of a corgi, is full of a soporific
the likes of which could spavin every tiger in Bengal. Deep s. indica, to be used sparingly.”
For you, love, I save these notes. It seems as though outside
the storm is slackening and we can leave the pet store. The streets glisten
like scalloped obsidian hand axes and the buses run again, they are
the size of thunderclouds, they are full of electricity and fire and boredom and need.
I save for you these notes written in my hand.
I save for you these notes too small to read.
I save for you these notes as small as cat’s teeth,
written in one-point Papyrus on the backs of receipts.
I save for you these notes I whisper into the shell of your ear
while you sleep, I save them for when you whisper back, sleep-drunk,
how can anything so small do anything but whisper?
Size Writes 