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Nov. 24th, 2007 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombragethoughtdumping because I don't really know if I can be coherent.
finally, success on the line
un mercredi de congé et moi qui n'avais rien à faire non plus
an unfamiliar car I recognize pulls in on Maggie Mo.
she's nervous
hoping to leave a good impression
the impression is good
she needn't have worried.
good people
good food
just like in slick ad campaigns
but without the creepy parent-child interactions
and with more imperfections
Kathy works 3-11 at the hospital
she hates it, but it's a short commute
she's built somewhat like Jim.
it's not glamorous.
I like it.
Danny has a glass eye
Danny is a very strange boy
I miss having a small hilarious brother
Geo is autistic
he speaks slowly
he said grace
Katy's wrist has a bump on the bone
caused by improper setting
she no longer slides in to bases
she loves math
George, the father, some kind of working class
kind and eager to help
this is not a storybook family
but it is so nice, so decent and undepraved.
they coexisted so naturally
seated around a dinner table
happy, talking
around simple food
(can't believe I actually ate green beans in cream of mushroom soup)
love
in a series of small, old, slightly battered rooms
with religious symbols and family photos on the walls
(they move the photos of recent visitors to the front of a bulletin board. they have many visitors. an awful picture of me taken by my mother)
mementoes of loved ones
a Steelers blanket covering an old couch
creaking floorboards under the carpet
work tools near the door
sneakers drying on the radiator
and a big stupid dog running around
(come a long way since the plastic bag and the car window)
talk of sports and school with a pretty girl
feeling the difficulty
feeling.
78% of students can't pass national exams
if her class can't do better, the government will take over her school
get rid of sports
get rid of what Geo lives for
McKeesport without football?
unthinkable.
the boys chasing the dog
taking the dog out for a piss in the rain
chatting
learning about them
feeling comfortable on their couch
so unlike when I visit my relatives
they are not related to me.
Jim called.
thanks, Jim
thanks, Stepanskys
thanksgiving.
(Apparently I'm not allergic to pumpkin pie after all. might just be the power of Cool Whip)
-then-
holidays with strangers
a beautiful walk in the cold to a professor's house
unhastened
chill winds remind me I'm alive and warm inside
depth of field
old stately houses on hills
trees with bright and interesting leaves
squishy wet leaves littering the ground like decoupage
squirrels rustling around
squirrel hill
the blood surges back stingingly as I enter his warm house
feeling less at ease
a different type of life
books on Wagner in the shelf
editions of his physics text
a pipe organ for home use
good food
strained conversations in the kitchen
much silence on my part
tales of adventure:
cave diving, mountain climbing, changing fluorescent light bulbs
so much sitting still
itching to leave
I liked the walk much better than the meal
talking to grandma in cold, dark alleys
long conversations with a friend
the days and nights fading into each other insignificantly
interactions independent of time
strange few days
schoolwork left undone
tumbling, laughing
downwards, a ditch
lambent light
flickering fireflies
I caught one.
new friends, new home?
new life?
what is certain anymore
except that there is a firefly
beating its wings against the air
sometimes against my palms
in my two hands.
only once before have I seen
this curious creature
on the wing
slower and less clever than I had imagined
less agile than the glass-winged darting dragonflies
I could never outrun in that sunny backyard
with a sprawling grapefruit tree/castle
hung with bromeliads and other potted plants
a anchor to the yard
with potato peelings and onionskins and carrot shavings sprinkled around the base
an orange tree (no thorns)
a douglas fir
some power lines
a sometimes-stagnant, sometimes-scummy canal that once contained a turtle.
...but my assumption's disproval did not disappoint,
the insect contained within my hollow hands.
no longer worried about observers in high illuminated windows
I release my temporary captive
watching it blink on and off far away into the night
knowing it will never return to me.
I asked a friend about holding them in jars
(apparently a poor light source)
enough of them will flash fairly frequently enough
to effect a wavering glow.
no living thing should be trapped in jar
a prison of hands is enough
for most
too much for some?
finally, success on the line
un mercredi de congé et moi qui n'avais rien à faire non plus
an unfamiliar car I recognize pulls in on Maggie Mo.
she's nervous
hoping to leave a good impression
the impression is good
she needn't have worried.
good people
good food
just like in slick ad campaigns
but without the creepy parent-child interactions
and with more imperfections
Kathy works 3-11 at the hospital
she hates it, but it's a short commute
she's built somewhat like Jim.
it's not glamorous.
I like it.
Danny has a glass eye
Danny is a very strange boy
I miss having a small hilarious brother
Geo is autistic
he speaks slowly
he said grace
Katy's wrist has a bump on the bone
caused by improper setting
she no longer slides in to bases
she loves math
George, the father, some kind of working class
kind and eager to help
this is not a storybook family
but it is so nice, so decent and undepraved.
they coexisted so naturally
seated around a dinner table
happy, talking
around simple food
(can't believe I actually ate green beans in cream of mushroom soup)
love
in a series of small, old, slightly battered rooms
with religious symbols and family photos on the walls
(they move the photos of recent visitors to the front of a bulletin board. they have many visitors. an awful picture of me taken by my mother)
mementoes of loved ones
a Steelers blanket covering an old couch
creaking floorboards under the carpet
work tools near the door
sneakers drying on the radiator
and a big stupid dog running around
(come a long way since the plastic bag and the car window)
talk of sports and school with a pretty girl
feeling the difficulty
feeling.
78% of students can't pass national exams
if her class can't do better, the government will take over her school
get rid of sports
get rid of what Geo lives for
McKeesport without football?
unthinkable.
the boys chasing the dog
taking the dog out for a piss in the rain
chatting
learning about them
feeling comfortable on their couch
so unlike when I visit my relatives
they are not related to me.
Jim called.
thanks, Jim
thanks, Stepanskys
thanksgiving.
(Apparently I'm not allergic to pumpkin pie after all. might just be the power of Cool Whip)
-then-
holidays with strangers
a beautiful walk in the cold to a professor's house
unhastened
chill winds remind me I'm alive and warm inside
depth of field
old stately houses on hills
trees with bright and interesting leaves
squishy wet leaves littering the ground like decoupage
squirrels rustling around
squirrel hill
the blood surges back stingingly as I enter his warm house
feeling less at ease
a different type of life
books on Wagner in the shelf
editions of his physics text
a pipe organ for home use
good food
strained conversations in the kitchen
much silence on my part
tales of adventure:
cave diving, mountain climbing, changing fluorescent light bulbs
so much sitting still
itching to leave
I liked the walk much better than the meal
talking to grandma in cold, dark alleys
long conversations with a friend
the days and nights fading into each other insignificantly
interactions independent of time
strange few days
schoolwork left undone
tumbling, laughing
downwards, a ditch
lambent light
flickering fireflies
I caught one.
new friends, new home?
new life?
what is certain anymore
except that there is a firefly
beating its wings against the air
sometimes against my palms
in my two hands.
only once before have I seen
this curious creature
on the wing
slower and less clever than I had imagined
less agile than the glass-winged darting dragonflies
I could never outrun in that sunny backyard
with a sprawling grapefruit tree/castle
hung with bromeliads and other potted plants
a anchor to the yard
with potato peelings and onionskins and carrot shavings sprinkled around the base
an orange tree (no thorns)
a douglas fir
some power lines
a sometimes-stagnant, sometimes-scummy canal that once contained a turtle.
...but my assumption's disproval did not disappoint,
the insect contained within my hollow hands.
no longer worried about observers in high illuminated windows
I release my temporary captive
watching it blink on and off far away into the night
knowing it will never return to me.
I asked a friend about holding them in jars
(apparently a poor light source)
enough of them will flash fairly frequently enough
to effect a wavering glow.
no living thing should be trapped in jar
a prison of hands is enough
for most
too much for some?
