In an uncategorizable dream, she was in a doctor’s office. The doctor had dyed black hair and didn’t use gloves for the pelvic examination. The room was full of rotting food. Then she was home and opening an envelope, and inside the envelope was a check for $100,000. 

The traffic lights, the coffee perfectly hot, the engine of my car gliding along in the morning, 

the buttons holding my blouse together, the soles of my shoes solid.

Look how the sidewalk rises to meet your feet

with the gentleness of mothers. The splendor

of spring trees in fuchsia bloom is yours alone.

You turn to see if he’s watching, if he’s afraid that you’ll leave, but can’t tell either way. Your jeans held your ass differently on hormones. You wonder if he can tell the difference.

Steinke artfully details how we lose our vitality, our stamina and our abilities, bit by bit, organ by joint. After the book’s tour through disease and misfortune, I’d come to feel lucky for my health.

Out in the field Mbye saw somebody just barely there, a shirtless old man, as black as Mbye, with his trousers rolled up, who looked at him without curiosity.