Controlling the Silver

Back To Where We Come From

34 Back To Where We Come From We are approaching the archway of courtly bamboo, the family river wets the stems of rooted reed instruments. Touched to lips of the wind they pipe, “this long time gal me never see you.” We had hoped that we could enter again into the stone and wood House of Harvey and sit. That relatives might bring cooling, four water jelly coconuts, two each. That we’d light the Home Sweet Home lamps with their deep froth border of glass lace, that after we catch up ourselves, we’d leaf through sepia snap shots and then reread early lessons from the Royal Primer. That we’d sit down on family tombs, then go to sleep in our grandparents room in their four poster bed till morning came and we’d consult with the river’s keeper. But instead we are confronted with this. ...