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The Accordionist
- University of Massachusetts Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
23 The accordionisT My sister stole my pulse & sold it for a slide, a metal one, a gaudy one, a get-yourself-swept-away-by-one kind of one, a down & around & in & out kind of love. i love my sister, she’s frustratingly earnest & full of hatred & I want her to be happy always & a little bit sad like our mother, who’s a grassy place behind the trailers. She lies there under ground & whistles, blowing bubbles that sound like stars in rough winds, like cardboard spines squished between arthritic hands, knuckles where they shouldn’t be, red & swollen, a mess of tongues 24 in the compost pile, wagging. Making a wish doesn’t require a voice. Like how to imply goodbye mechanically, fanatically, a factory, a poplar farm, a paper mill punched in the face by a living, filmy thing that’s moving quickly away, going quickly & thoughtfully away. ...