i. we're sitting on the ikea couch my parents bought ten years ago. the tv is on, but as usual i am in control of the channels. you're staring ahead, eyes uncomprehending into space. moments later, you look at me without recognition of a deeper relationship, and take my hand. ii. your hair is black, and i imagine that your eyes are bright, focused. we're in the foyer of the gaithersburg house with a porch, by the carpeted family room. don't hit her, you interject, even though i probably deserve it this is my one memory. iii. there is a red headband in the drawer, lacy, with a huge puffy flower on the right hand side, also red. i slide on a black headband. no, you motion, and lift up the red one. it is prettier. i shake my head and place it back. it is still there iv. i called kaiwen last night. we're coming home, using the southwest discount tickets. we will see you soon. posted by testimonies 4:27 PM Add a comment . . .
Sestina September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac, laughing and talking to hide her tears. She thinks that her equinoctial tears and the rain that beats on the roof of the house were both foretold by the almanac, but only known to a grandmother. The iron kettle sings on the stove. She cuts some bread and says to the child, It's time for tea now; but the child is watching the teakettle's small hard tears dance like mad on the hot black stove, the way the rain must dance on the house. Tidying up, the old grandmother hangs up the clever almanac on its string. Birdlike, the almanac hovers half open above the child, hovers above the old grandmother and her teacup full of dark brown tears. She shivers and says she thinks the house feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove. It was to be, says the Marvel Stove. I know what I know, says the almanac. With crayons the child draws a rigid house and a winding pathway. Then the child puts in a man with buttons like tears and shows it proudly to the grandmother. But secretly, while the grandmother busies herself about the stove, the little moons fall down like tears from between the pages of the almanac into the flower bed the child has carefully placed in the front of the house. Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house. --Elizabeth Bishop to read more about the sestina form: http://www.english.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/sestina.html posted by testimonies 10:59 AM Add a comment . . .
