Читать книгу Dandarians - Lee Ann Roripaugh - Страница 13
ОглавлениеYesterday’s air bristling Japanese beetles—all metallic pinch and ping.
Grasshoppers Jiffy Popping under a blue aluminum dome.
A stray dog-day cicada, stranded on its back on the path, rattling its dry gourd of a body with a mechanical windup toy’s stutter and twitch.
All rescinded after a single morning’s chilled rain. Leaf prints mold-scored onto asphalt. An immolation of orange and yellow burnings stilled to silhouetted ash and char.
(The imprint of your body fading too quickly from my bed.)
Was it an erasure, or was it a swallowing? Or the shimmered turning of a purse inside out to reveal the silky lining?
Leaves glisten. The dock is drizzle-slick. Sky an uncertain pearling of abalone.
(And yes, I have been turned utterly inside out.)
So what other choice is there, if not to simply give oneself up to the rain—to glisten, shine, and pearl uncertainly into this very absence, this same ache, this lambent and indefinite quiet?
