Monday, January 22, 2007
New Beginning 196
It is transparent and it sticks to you to itself to anything you don’t want it to, but it does not hold together those things that need holding together - the gaping wound of the broken marriage, for example, or her lips when she is about to say something cutting, hurtful, or embarrassing. It does not hold together worlds or atoms or decaying societies, or rotting plywood or the canvas back to the director’s chair that Myrtle sat in that last summer that she was able to sit upright, the skin of her hands transparent, the skin of her legs gone over, turned, like curds like pot cheese like yellowed papers from her father’s desk.
Myrtle read a poem when she was in the fifth grade. It was the first poem in her poetry book, wherein the poems were arranged in chronological order, thus – this poem – this first poem in Myrtle’s memory:
Sumer is a-cumin’ in
Loudhe sing cuckoo
Sumer is a-cumin’ in . . .
She doesn’t remember the rest. She just remembers the pages, turned by the hands of a dozen students before her, reading learning growing creasing and tearing the pages held together with brittle, yellow . . . It ages like we do, we all grow old grow brittle turn yellow, it happened to Myrtle, it’ll happen to you. I can still see still imagine, that virgin spool, full of promise until eager fingers unwind it until there’s nothing left, you have to understand--
“Scotch tape? That what you want? Scotch tape?”
Yes dear, that’s it: Scotch tape. And also . . . oh, it’s thin and pointed and it can draw a line on paper or card or the journal of your life, and it carries an eraser at it’s end, but you can never erase everything no matter how hard you try, there’s always a shadow a smudge a residue of the past, remaining to . . .
Opening: Tia Nia.....Continuation: ril