Another Century, and: Still Life

136 KRISTIN PREVALLET ANOTHER CENTURY The guests are weighed down with bags casserole dishes and pies presents for the children flowers for the host. It’s November. They walk up the salted stairs for a Thanksgiving feast— a football sits where it landed, next to a knobby attempt to build a snowman. The door opens, familiar odor of basting and kitchen heat thick as greetings, hugs hello and welcome, the old spaniel panting in the hallway and the calico running to hide. Candle-scented spice lights the table, plates bright with cranberries and yams. After dinner clanging of dishes it’s finally time for the annual game of charades. The energy in the room is high. It’s girls against guys. The category is movies. heavy, afraid, depressed, doom!!! small word: a, the, an, of!!! Single malt and truffles, Bartok’s Rhapsody no. 2. The hostess stands on the couch and urgently forms a triangle with her hands, then brings them together in prayer. church! pyramid! steeple! 137 The stakes are high but finally it’s clear: “The Temple of Doom! Laughter, goodbye, heavy coats. Soon the evening will be forgotten, absorbed into dailyness, routine, and the promise of next year— There’s always next year. Another war, another glass of port, another crystal vase blooming with geraniums, another dog playing dead. 138 KRISTIN PREVALLET STILL LIFE A woman at the corner of Avenue A and 12th street Asked if I would mind feeding her pigeons while she went away on vacation. I told her that I would feed her pigeons when they landed on my fire escape in Brooklyn. She said no, those pigeons in Brooklyn aren’t my pigeons. Feed them, I don’t care, but you’re not doing me any favors. I fed them anyway. The pigeons in Greenpoint, picking crumbs by the river Flew away and spread the message That there was plenty of bread to go around. They knew what the old woman didn’t. There are fences and there are clouds. Only when flying is there enough sky. Birds see it all, upside down. ...