Posts tagged literature
A Diagram of Partial Anatomy
(fig.1) Clothing, because you are the most naked animal. Fibers you cannot make or see, the hard work of other, more valuable creatures. This is where the Lord seems to have lost His head for a moment. What were we supposed to do? As there are not enough pelts to go around, we endure and perpetuate an infinite succession of flesh-robbing and refitting. No, it doesn’t bother me, the sensation of skin on skin. Or we could grow cotton somewhere hot, soak rags in gasoline and wrap them around our ankles to deter the thirst of biting insects, then try to weave what threads we can without conjuring the memory of sunburn and chiggers. If that’s any more appealing. Better to simply dress without regard to history, to heat or chill, wind or wet. A man quivering through the translucence of his damp, blanched underclothes should be inspiration enough. When fashion molts and reveals the body as an unnamable being, a living thing limping in-between indescribability and human culmination, you’ll have an idea of what to wear…
at night, i hear murmurs of lost dreams,
pleas of “come back later, please: out
stealing horses,” and are they palominos
or soft-looking dapple greys? in my head
they are colored, dimly lit and endless,
like the sky, like the old days when the heart
could be dry and separate from the head,
and in your dreams i tell myself there are
lines to be drawn, that i am the almighty in
my misery, independent of you, and when the
sky falls, i will tell myself that my humanity
is just a dream, that i am one of your
compulsions, out stealing horses,
and when dawn breaks under your eyelids
i will be watching, waiting for the sign.
Come, brother. He is slow to answer. He was resting, but there is no time, now, for sleepy thoughts. The moon is sinking, see. The leaves overhead are slick with its death. The moon is sinking and my hatchlings scream for food. My ears bleed. His tail twitches laughter at me. Laughter comes easily to him. He is young yet, and only male. Come, brother. He comes…
Behind my house, there are squirrels as big as puppies. Someday, I will capture one and mail it to you so that you might enjoy a squirrel of unusual size too. I’ll send Band-Aids, because that squirrel will probably bite you, and it will be your fault. When we were six, I tried to teach you that. I tried to teach you that squeezing adorable things with teeth is a bad idea, but you never learned, and I chipped a tooth on your bracelet.
In our river, there is a place where two 16 year old boys drowned. My neighbors fished one of them up in 1979. I don’t have any pictures, but I thought you would like to know. I thought you would like to know that actions have consequences.
Behind the playground, the place where you came back to earth is still indented with your shape and soaked with your nose-blood. That tree tipped you over backwards. It was maybe six feet down. You landed on your knees and how you managed to break your nose is beyond me. But I warned you about that. I warned you about that so many times.
I remember when you almost got hit by that car. You didn’t look before leaping, well, you never look, but this time it was physical, you running into the street. Death tried to kiss you at 45mph, but you jumped away and hit hot pavement with a wish and a giggle.
Once, we went skiing down my basement stairs on cardboard and sleeping bags because you said your best friend had done it and it was fun. I wanted to kick you for saying that, but you beat me to it later when your shadow was flickering in a strobe light as you turned cartwheels and somersaults and I was gasping for breath on the floor.
I think you almost broke my sternum.
And I’ve come to the conclusion that you are kind of stupid.
“I wish that the bats who attacked you weren’t so small, because then they would have given you a concussion, and an excuse. “
“For a man is destined to but once to live and allotted to each one time to die. This is the way it has been and will always be.”
Well, I can’t really explain how it all happened or even why, so you’ll get no help that way. What I can do is tell you what happened and maybe you can help me with the rest…
She is a lost child, afraid to be found.
She’s not nearly strong enough yet, but she will pretend anyway.
She has dreams, but she herself keeps them out of reach.
She’s the kind of girl that never wants to grow up, grow old, because
She never wants to be ‘too old’ for lying in autumn leaves and
She loves the feeling of paint in her hair, sun on her cheeks.