Читать книгу The Nine Senses - Melissa Kwasny - Страница 18

The School of the Dead, the School of Roots, and the School of Dreams

title after Hélène Cixous

White shoot germinating from the burlap seed, wet, dark, deflated now. What is the earth? Rosary of black beads, clumped. A decade between them. Home of the sorrowful and digestive mysteries. My peas didn’t rise. What is under there to maim us, disable us? A sparkle at the deep place as if water pooled there. When I was digging with the spatula, planting the pinks, I struck something hard, skull-like. What is the earth? Bad queen searching for simples in the dark. Cabbage world. Old country. Underlife. While the coffee grounds settle, while the sweetened root tea thins our blood. What is the earth? Our security alarm, our savings. Please don’t talk as if you’re going to die. Silver reeds poking like tent poles through the tarp. Rotting thatch of the summerhouse. What is the earth? Brew pub of purgatory, slop bucket of souls. In a nutshell. Gravy.