BRIGHT YELLOW BLOSSOMS float on a primrose jasmine's tangle of foliage. Grey mist turning to light rain. Ground coffee beans and poured hot but not boiling water into a glass canister. Makes good, strong coffee. Suddenly I'm reminded of Hemingway's relish for sensual details. The taste of food and drink, or the complex social rituals of consumption. He possessed a vivid appetite. And now Hoa says she feels something, surges coming every ten minutes or so. The linea negra separates her belly into two spheres. She inspires me with her lovely, fierce determination. K cries in protest and fear. Outside power lines crisscross a silver sky. Or perhaps it's a gunmetal sky there behind a thick range of pecan and hackberry branches. A friend wants to know the names of the tools of our utility grid, much as an amateur ornithologist desires knowledge of birds. She wants the name of each individual wire and bolt. What rocks mix into the asphalt or concrete? Where is metal smelted for our cars, or the screws and nails that keep our houses and furniture together? Do people still even smelt? Smelters the OED calls them. What plastic makes this pen? Which chemicals blacken its ink? And the surges continue. A strong cramping force brings out this earth-bound creature.
Posted by Dale at May 3, 2004 03:33 PM