Читать книгу Jane - Мэгги Нельсон - Страница 13

She wakes up. The mist has dispersed. There is no freckle, no hole. The flowers, however, have opened, and they have turned to face the window.

Soon she will want something—a cup of coffee. She sets off into the day. The sky comes down in big vertical blue slabs the sun streaks through like bleach.

The flammable suitcase she was carrying without knowing the danger she was in. Just walking down the street in the middle of a spring day. Unseasonably warm. She is singing, “I Wish I Were a Kid Again.” She doesn’t care what people think. She knows she is Cleopatra. She knows her guts are spears.