Friday, March 26, 2010
"Tell me who is being mean to you and I will mail them an envelope filled with my own boogers."
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
I'm taking a break for a few days.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
From Picnic, Lightning
First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
on the back of a wooden chair.
And her bonnet,
the bow undone with a light forward pull.
Then the long white dress, a more
complicated matter with mother-of-pearl
buttons down the back,
so tiny and numerous that it takes forever
before my hands can part the fabric,
like a swimmer's dividing water,
and slip inside.
You will want to know
that she was standing
by an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
motionless, a little wide-eyed,
looking out at the orchard below,
the white dress puddled at her feet
on the wide-board, hardwood floor.
The complexity of women's undergarments
in nineteenth-century America
is not to be waved off,
and I proceeded like a polar explorer
through clips, clasps, and moorings,
catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.
Later, I wrote in a notebook
it was like riding a swan into the night,
but, of course, I cannot tell you everything—
the way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
how there were sudden dashes whenever we spoke.
What I can tell you is
it was terribly quiet in Amherst
that Sabbath afternoon,
nothing but a carriage passing the house,
a fly buzzing in a windowpane.
So I could plainly hear her inhale
when I undid the very top
hook-and-eye fastener of her corset
and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh when they realize
that Hope has feathers;
that reason is a plank,
that life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The security guard was a young African-American man, and the dog was a muzzled German Shepherd. The two of them were alone, looking across the train platform. A couple of tough archetypes.
The German Shepherd leaned it's fettered snout over and nudged the Guard. He looked down, and the dog looked up at him.
The Guard brought his hand up behind the dog's ear, the still puppy-soft part, and ran his fingers through the dog's fur. The German Shepherd leaned in more, allowing the Guard better access to his coat.
The Guard smiled a little, leaned over just an inch or two, and spoke to the dog.
I was so disarmed by this unexpected moment of tenderness, that I had to look away.
2. Favorite word this week:
also crumb·y (krm)
3. Least favorite word: