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Aubade with a Book and the Rattle from a String of Pearls
- Southern Illinois University Press
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14 AubadewithaBookandtheRattlefromaStringofPearls Thecolorofthetreesisbleachedatthishour andyouleftabookonthetable,facedown withitsspinereachingforair.Ithought thebookmighthateyouforthat.Withmypre-dawncoffee andmouthfullofsleepsyllablesIwhistledthetitle, heldthebookinmyarmslikesomethingwouldreachforit andcarryittoanothergalaxy. Iwouldgoonpreachingtowindows abouthowthescreensneededreplacing,or howthedustmotessettletheshelves.Youwereinagony yetyouwouldnotspeakaboutthingssuchasage andthebodygesturesthatcometoclaimyourmornings. Neck-sure,arm-sure,Ithinkaboutyouandyourbook comingtosomeagreement...someplaceofrest. Thoughthemicaglitteredlikemeteors...thoughyouexhaled circlesinthedarkofyourskin,youentered aslowrecessional.Itwasakindofstarvation, knowingthesunwouldcomewithitslarks andcarsstutteringpastyourhouse.Youinyourbed shuttightagainstthetideofsoundrefusingtobelieve thatthebookheldyourworldinsuchsimpleconnotations. Abookisabook,yousaid. Itakethatforgrantedsometimes.Perhaps youwererighttopressitsmouthtothetable. Myimaginingssometimestakeme awayfromyou.Somorningpaces 15 likeanoldman—mutteringsofabooktitle I’veforgotten...tipofthetongue. Eachroomcarriedusfromclocktoclock.Eachtick anearfulaboutourselves.Godknows, thewaynightmovesitsshoesfromsidetoside orhowdaywrestlessyllablesfromusinoursleep. WhatamItryingtosay?Dawnonthespineofthebook simplystoodforyoumanyyearsago.Ithoughtofthedenimdress youhadsavedforgardening.YouhadaskedifIcould removeyournecklace.Ifumbledattheclasp andtouchedoneoftheridgesofyourspine asthenecklacebrokeandthedaysfellaroundus. ...