Читать книгу School - Jen Currin - Страница 10

Afternoons we can mime the ditches

and die almost human.

Die hungry, having tasted night.

You’re gorgeous and blunt,

telling me to wash my face.

It comes in through every window

like the words buzzing when we’re alone.

Nothing is unquestionable.

Sharp pencils and careful study

when we sense something’s breaking.

We could all be suddenly honest.

We could all surprise.

That careful other silence.

The death of a mother before we could ever hope

to understand her.

I hear you singing underneath your blanket

and it’s so cold out this morning.