"Sukdu'a II," Prologue.
It's traditional to begin by telling you this.
This was once Chada's Sukdu, and in the retelling,
it becomes my Sukdu'a.
For the unfamiliar, Sukdu is story.
Sukdu'a is a story that's become a personal story.
And I've decided that this is akin to how some people build
familial homes.
Oh, this?
It's our ancestral family home.
My greatest-grandparents built it.
And someone built on 10 additions,
and another reroofed and refloored it,
while another stripped the interior to studs.
Isn't it lovely?
In this fictitious exchange, I imagine
you are looking for what was once there--
a rectangle of unfaded wallpaper, the pawned painting
now rent.
The movement from Sukdu to Sukdu'a
necessitates change, an authorial reckoning
with what remains.
My initial imagining was wrong.
This is not a house or rooms that I reorder.
Here I am moving towards scape- land, mass- land, place- land,
fall.
No.
Here I find myself in my time keeping within it.
That's not correct.
Here, in March 1986, Augustine erupted.
The main plume deposited 1.5 centimeters of ash
atop Kenai, Alaska.
Significant pyroclastic flow was noted by someone.
I don't know who.
The subsequent dome growth is comparable to pre-1883 heights.
In 1883, the volcano's north side
collapsed and triggered a tsunami.
Scientists state the damage was minimal.
Only a few vessels floated away.
It's so nice to minimize loss whenever possible.
The loss was related to the tides
and their patterned diminishment.
Thank goodness for low tide.
I too would like permission to stop reaching.
It's nice that the dome has reappeared.
Here, what I'm trying to say is this.
I've been absent, collecting myself.
No.
What I've been trying to say is this.