In 1960, two passenger planes collided in the sky over Brooklyn before crashing into Pillar of Fire Church.
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Instrumental with bowed electric guitar, tuned BABBBB. Was listening to a lot of Beach House at the time.
While home this past winter, my parents showed me the church they used to be the pastors of next to Harvard Square, and the tree outside the front steps where my mom planted our placenta with the seed.
“Seth, your mom is very sad right now.” I turned my head from the window to my dad. There was no one else in the blue minivan. We had just been at my school’s sports award ceremony, which took place in a hotel. I had gotten the Most Valuable Player award for the schools ten-twelve year old baseball team.
“Grandma died this morning.”
That block of wood is now my bedside table.