You
spill
the sugar when you lift the spoon. My father had filled an old
apothecary jar with what he called "sea glass," bits of old bottles
rounded
and textured by the sea, so abundant on beaches. There is no solitude. It
buries itself in veracity. It is as if one splashed in the water lost by
one's tears. My mother had climbed into the garbage can in order to stamp
down the accumulated trash, but the can was knocked off balance, and
when she fell she broke her arm. She could only give a little
shrug. The family had little money but plenty of food. At the
circus only the elephants were greater than anything I could
have imagined. The egg of Columbus, landscape and grammar.
She wanted one where the playground was dirt, with
grass, shaded by a tree, from which would hang a rubber tire
as a swing, and when she found it she sent me. These
creatures are compound and nothing they do should surprise
us. I don't mind, or I won't mind, where the verb "to care"
might multiply. The pilot of the little airplane had forgotten
to notify the airport of his approach, so that when the lights
of the plane in the night were first spotted, the air raid sirens
went off, and the entire city on that coast went dark. He was
taking a drink of water and the light was growing dim. My
mother stood at the window watching the only lights that
were visible, circling over the darkened city in search of the
hidden airport. Unhappily, time seems more normative than
place. Whether breathing or holding the breath, it was the
same thing, driving through the tunnel from one sun to the next under a
hot brown hill. She sunned the baby for sixty seconds, leaving him naked
except for a blue cotton sunbonnet. At night, to close off the windows
from view of the street, my grandmother pulled down the window shades,
never loosening the curtains, a gauze starched too stiff to hang properly
down. I sat on the windowsill singing sunny lunny teena, ding-dang-dong.
Out there is an aging magician who needs a tray of ice in order to turn
his bristling breath into steam. He broke the radio silence. Why would
anyone find astrology interesting when it is possible to learn about
astronomy. What one passes in the Plymouth. It is the wind slamming the
doors. All that is nearly incommunicable to my friends. Velocity and
throat verisimilitude. Were we seeing a pattern or merely an appearance of
small white sailboats on the bay, floating at such a distance from the
hill that they appeared to be making no progress. And for once to a
country that did not speak another language. To follow the progress of
ideas, or that particular line of reasoning, so full of surprises and
unexpected correlations, was somehow to take a vacation. Still, you had to
wonder where they had gone, since you could speak of reappearance. A blue
room is always dark. Everything on the boardwalk was shooting toward the
sky. It was not specific to any year, but very early. A German goldsmith
covered a bit of metal with cloth in the 14th century and gave mankind its
first button. It was hard to know this as politics, because it plays like
the work of one person, but nothing is isolated in history--certain humans
are situations. Are your fingers in the margin. Their random procedures
make monuments to fate. There is something still surprising when the green
emerges. The blue fox has ducked its head. The front rhyme of harmless
with harmony. Where is my honey running. You cannot linger "on the lamb."
You cannot determine the nature of progress until you assemble all of the
relatives.
You
spill
the sugar when you lift the spoon. My father had filled an old
apothecary jar with what he called "sea glass," bits of old bottles
rounded
and textured by the sea, so abundant on beaches. There is no solitude. It
buries itself in veracity. It is as if one splashed in the water lost by
one's tears. My mother had climbed into the garbage can in order to stamp
down the accumulated trash, but the can was knocked off balance, and
when she fell she broke her arm. She could only give a little
shrug. The family had little money but plenty of food. At the
circus only the elephants were greater than anything I could
have imagined. The egg of Columbus, landscape and grammar.
She wanted one where the playground was dirt, with
grass, shaded by a tree, from which would hang a rubber tire
as a swing, and when she found it she sent me. These
creatures are compound and nothing they do should surprise
us. I don't mind, or I won't mind, where the verb "to care"
might multiply. The pilot of the little airplane had forgotten
to notify the airport of his approach, so that when the lights
of the plane in the night were first spotted, the air raid sirens
went off, and the entire city on that coast went dark. He was
taking a drink of water and the light was growing dim. My
mother stood at the window watching the only lights that
were visible, circling over the darkened city in search of the
hidden airport. Unhappily, time seems more normative than
place. Whether breathing or holding the breath, it was the
same thing, driving through the tunnel from one sun to the next under a
hot brown hill. She sunned the baby for sixty seconds, leaving him naked
except for a blue cotton sunbonnet. At night, to close off the windows
from view of the street, my grandmother pulled down the window shades,
never loosening the curtains, a gauze starched too stiff to hang properly
down. I sat on the windowsill singing sunny lunny teena, ding-dang-dong.
Out there is an aging magician who needs a tray of ice in order to turn
his bristling breath into steam. He broke the radio silence. Why would
anyone find astrology interesting when it is possible to learn about
astronomy. What one passes in the Plymouth. It is the wind slamming the
doors. All that is nearly incommunicable to my friends. Velocity and
throat verisimilitude. Were we seeing a pattern or merely an appearance of
small white sailboats on the bay, floating at such a distance from the
hill that they appeared to be making no progress. And for once to a
country that did not speak another language. To follow the progress of
ideas, or that particular line of reasoning, so full of surprises and
unexpected correlations, was somehow to take a vacation. Still, you had to
wonder where they had gone, since you could speak of reappearance. A blue
room is always dark. Everything on the boardwalk was shooting toward the
sky. It was not specific to any year, but very early. A German goldsmith
covered a bit of metal with cloth in the 14th century and gave mankind its
first button. It was hard to know this as politics, because it plays like
the work of one person, but nothing is isolated in history--certain humans
are situations. Are your fingers in the margin. Their random procedures
make monuments to fate. There is something still surprising when the green
emerges. The blue fox has ducked its head. The front rhyme of harmless
with harmony. Where is my honey running. You cannot linger "on the lamb."
You cannot determine the nature of progress until you assemble all of the
relatives.