At the Bureau of Divine Music

A Sudden Shower

23 A Sudden Shower A restorative walk in the garden, a rock in the shoe, cantankerous clouds, a split-second view of a bluebird lighting in the cherry tree, swallowing itself among plump new leaves—all these were for you and the incorruptible memory of your love. I had awaked from night sweats and murderous dreams. I held my head. I begged the cat to die. I contemplated the smashed fly on the windowpane above the sink. I got my coffee going. I said my prayers to the small gods of plumbing, wiring, domestic engineering. That cat would not die. She took to her duchy of dung to build more cottages among its brooding hills. The rain she made reminded her townspeople of the merciless amenities. Dissimulations on that point proved brutally useless. I had walked back in from the garden without a clue to the heartrending bluebird’s whereabouts. As for you, I surrendered your memory to the goodwives of Kittythorpe, hugging their elbows at picket gates by banks of bloodwort, henbane, dogtooth, wormwood, scraps of you twisting into the rain. ...