Losses Some mornings there is only confusion and a search for keys disappeared in the night. They should be in the leather purse I bought at a Paris market, back when I could follow a map. Impossible to retrace those steps but the memory of charcuterie guides me to the kitchen. No purse in the refrigerator and where did I lay my brush? My hair would nest a rat. It’s not death but this slow dissolve that terrifies me. Sandra Kacher Sandra Kacher's poetry springs from years of hearing about the inner lives of hundreds of therapy clients. She lists Mary Oliver and Billy Collins as influences on her writing.