GOLDEN
SEAM

In '98, the bucket tipped on concrete floor #7. Turpentine met dust. The spill became the pattern. I did not sweep.

Every fracture is a signature. Every spill, a star chart.

Ashland remembers the bucket. Ohio holds the stain.

We gather at the mended table. The potluck begins where the scar ends.

WHERE THE FRACTURE BECOMES THE SPINE