Thursday, March 03, 2005

blueberry stains

Good news like a fall. News that may take me across the country, and away from the life I made.

But first...there was dinner with the very famous poet at a long table set with candles and meat-smoke light. First there was the reading, how his white hair shone above his face, and I closed my eyes and imagined his friend, who was dead, who was also very famous, whose picture I copied and taped above my desk when I was in school.

There was a fall down a flight of ice. The swelling and the shattering. The 3 am stumble to the kitchen to find a frozen pack of vegetables, which was not vegetables at all but a bag of blueberries with a hole in the bottom.

There was this morning awakening to blueberry stains on bedsheets, purple with rings at the edge.

There is the news, and then there is reacting. Decisions. Yes or not yes.

But first, there is washing the purple from the white. Bleach the burnt cloth. Run the steaming water. Rinse.