Furious Lullaby

Widening Aubade

56 Widening฀Aubade And฀now฀the฀filigree฀of฀your฀wrist฀as฀it฀catches฀the฀dawning moves฀beyond฀the฀room฀into฀the฀alleyways. The฀man฀pricing฀a฀quarter฀rind฀of฀a฀melon฀pauses,฀light ricocheting฀from฀his฀eye฀into฀a฀ball฀court฀across฀the฀way. And฀in฀the฀arc฀of฀the฀orb’s฀flight from฀a฀child’s฀hand฀into฀the฀hoop,฀the฀leather฀rotates, representing฀the฀ever฀and฀the฀now฀beyond฀all฀sunlit฀rooms, beyond฀the฀fade฀and฀the฀double-clutch฀which฀we฀often฀do฀when฀waking to฀a฀new฀century,฀asking฀what฀we฀once฀were฀called฀in฀childhoods, ever฀and฀now,฀for฀the฀suddenly฀and฀always฀that฀we฀wait whole฀lifetimes฀for.฀And฀we฀ask฀for฀this฀despite฀the฀way฀cities tangled฀in฀light฀slowly฀groan฀into฀the฀morning฀the฀way฀we฀do. Dare฀your฀wrist฀become฀vulnerable฀like฀the฀stems฀of฀snow฀peas snapped฀in฀the฀wind฀and฀the฀mornings฀will฀have฀succeeded but฀to฀what฀purpose?฀Live฀out฀your฀colors฀to฀what฀end? The฀scent฀of฀a฀halved฀melon฀is฀as฀remarkable฀as฀this.฀So฀too, the฀thud฀of฀a฀basketball฀on฀the฀sidewalk฀released฀and฀gathered and฀released฀again.฀There฀are฀whole฀moments riddling฀to฀things฀coming฀to฀irrelevance฀.฀.฀.฀the฀body lighter฀in฀its฀repose,฀the฀hush฀of฀a฀ball฀through฀a฀basket. 57 4 Somewhere,฀the฀moon฀reflects฀off฀the฀horns฀of฀an฀ox. The฀horns฀are฀two฀shells฀in฀conversation,฀listening฀yet฀never฀hearing a฀word฀you’ve฀said.฀But฀why฀should฀we฀speculate฀about฀other฀worlds having฀not฀outlasted฀this฀one?฀The฀ox฀pulls฀a฀trundle฀through฀the฀dim town฀and฀the฀men฀smoke฀and฀gossip฀about฀their฀debts฀and฀their฀women. There฀is฀nothing฀special฀about฀this,฀only฀it฀is฀the฀evening฀of฀a฀funeral and฀the฀ox฀pulls฀the฀casket฀of฀a฀woman฀who฀once฀sang฀beautifully฀in฀ church. The฀men฀watch฀the฀cart฀go฀by,฀accompanied฀by฀their฀wives฀brusquely fanning฀themselves฀and฀the฀children฀at฀their฀sides,฀and฀in฀an฀instant, the฀decrescendo฀of฀talk฀revises฀what฀I฀once฀told฀you฀was฀unremarkable. Gold฀earrings฀reflect฀light฀from฀the฀vigil฀and฀the฀woman’s฀body becomes฀a฀tawny฀reed.฀It’s฀as฀if฀she’s฀captured฀the฀change฀in฀tone or฀the฀ring฀of฀the฀bell฀for฀Sunday฀prayer. The฀procession฀will฀go฀on฀until฀our฀evening฀here,฀a฀continent฀away. Our฀bodies฀will฀be฀white฀things฀in฀the฀sun.฀We฀will฀say฀anything to฀each฀other.฀Perhaps฀kiss฀and฀touch฀and฀kiss฀again. And฀perhaps฀we฀will฀forget฀the฀felonies฀we฀charge฀one฀another in฀our฀waking฀and฀our฀breathing. 58 4 Elsewhere,฀the฀ocean฀swells฀and฀men฀who฀had฀been฀fishing descend฀off฀their฀wooden฀crosses฀where฀they฀had฀perched like฀little฀gods.฀They฀are฀blessed฀men.฀Later฀today,฀the฀ocean will฀destroy฀their฀homes฀but฀they฀do฀not฀know฀this,฀for฀love. There฀is฀only฀the฀mercy฀of฀fat฀monkfish฀and฀the฀sleep฀of฀the฀villages. Waste-deep,฀they฀wade฀back฀to฀shore฀carrying฀their฀food฀in฀the฀cloth of฀their฀headdresses฀now฀soiled฀with฀scales.฀From฀there,฀they฀look฀back at฀the฀ocean฀and฀thank฀it.฀It฀is฀a฀small฀thing,฀giving฀thanks฀at฀the฀end of฀a฀long฀day.฀And฀here฀we฀are.฀It฀is฀September and฀the฀slight฀change฀in฀leaf฀color฀gives฀me฀grief,฀which฀is฀also฀small. The฀air฀is฀colder฀and฀I฀have฀no฀fish฀to฀bring฀to฀you.฀Praise฀does฀not฀come easily฀from฀my฀lips,฀and฀worse,฀I฀see฀nothing฀as฀provocative฀as฀ocean฀swell from฀here,฀fixed฀as฀I฀am฀on฀the฀horizon.฀I฀only฀mention฀this because฀if฀it฀were฀to฀rain฀today฀you฀would฀choose฀to฀stay฀in฀bed. You฀would฀listen฀to฀my฀chest฀rise฀and฀think฀of฀the฀migration฀of฀geese or฀the฀ease฀of฀men฀wading฀in฀the฀ocean.฀You฀would฀lay฀on฀your฀side฀and฀ watch my฀smallness฀grow฀smaller฀as฀the฀hazy฀sunlight฀erased฀my฀shoulder฀lightly฀ ฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀฀with฀a฀glance. 59 4 It฀is฀September฀and฀the฀crystals฀have฀begun฀to฀form฀on฀the฀windows. Earlier,฀you฀brought฀the฀heavy฀blankets฀out฀from฀the฀closet and฀packaged฀yourself฀into฀a฀crisp฀bundle฀between฀them,฀sealing฀off all฀the฀cracks฀cold฀could฀reach.฀Wrapped฀as฀you฀are,฀you฀are฀prepared to฀hatch฀if฀the฀sun฀crossed฀your฀face,฀the฀only฀part฀of฀you฀exposed. Here฀and฀now,฀the฀last฀of฀the฀summer฀spiders฀have฀crossed฀into...