Dear Utah,

I'm sorry, I don't have any information,

No locks of hair, no dental moldings, no under salted- half burned-awkward family Christmas sweaters of sepia toned puzzle pieces. Pieces of gold found at the bottom of page two hundred and twenty one that tie the whole thing together in the shape of a cross and a switch blade. Tight like the butcher paper around the pork belly eye feast.

I guess I just peeled open my mid morning napping eyes just enough to understand that I don't understand. Meridith was there, and the kitty was there, some mountains in the background.

And I don't understand. The slit in my left eye was just wide enough for my chapped fist to shimmy in through the tear duct, and make it's way down past those organs that don't seem important anymore, probing along the bedrock of my uterus like a babysitter lost in the suburban space ship of switches and turns.

I tried to pull out a piece for you.

But, all I had was sand and void.

Keeping you and your loves deep inside my thoughts today,

Skin and toast