Читать книгу Alphabet Year - Devon Miller-Duggan - Страница 15

Abundance: an orange so fragrant it’s

blasphemy not to roll it in your hands until they’re pregnant with oils; scent

crucial to your belief in senses of Christmas.

Deifying your own hands, everything comes back to Christmas,

explaining the scent of oranges as the origin of your theology, your

First-Cause. It could just as easily have been the taste of butter, or light you called

God mazing its way through loblolly needles, rubbing the flaked bark,

holy as pushing needles in-and-out of fabric, the promise you made to read Anne Frank.

Infidel: who uses a knife on an orange rather than

just letting its pulp and oils gather beneath your nails before you

ken the burst and acid of its flesh by route & reason of your tongue,

lathe with which you spindle the names of God.

Mantle your hands in any perfume that’ll mask the smell of mortality:

Negation = or ≠ negotiation.

Omen = or ≠ open to interpolation, implication.

Polytheist = who cannot conclude whether God is kin, skin, pith, flesh, or seed.

Quill = verb = the winding of threads in order to weave. And to weave is to

reveal: there is a body beneath the cloth, window behind the hanging—