In Taïbo

20 THE MINNESOTA REVIEW across the room at me, it's coming at me sort of sad and beautiful like afternoon light. It comes to me—and makes me so hungry I am speechless. "Oh, shoot," Emily Dickinson says, "I know you're right, sweetheart. But you know how it is, just sitting in a saloon with a shot and a beer. Oh come on now, and eat your liver and onions." She dishes it out, still wistful. . . "on a winter afternoon, I do love a saloon. . . you know how it is, hon, it just has that certain slant of—" I woke up right there. I almost could smell the liver and onions. I had been sleeping on my back. My seeds were still warm in a puddle low on my belly. MARJORIE HAWKSWORTH IN TAIBO In Taibo the women have thick lips. Their hair is as black as a wet inner-tube. Some of their children have blue eyes reminiscent of a race of men who visited the island in a time of long rains. The men of Taibo think of the blue eyes as a delicacy. They pray for the dream of another bird with burning wings to fly into their hungry sleep. ...