olson, iv
“The crack finds you, you do not find it. I did not find this city—it found me. I, for one, was seated upon a rock, beside a mountain lake. Snow was falling. I was newly dead.”“Hardly new,” he says, glad to find some ground.
She pauses.
“Newly dead. I saw a hand in the snow. Arthur’s hand. Warm, around it the snow was melting. I went into the forest looking for the rest. It was just that: a crack. Here. I stepped through right here.”
They were seated in the alley behind the theater. Wild-limbed wisteria bloomed in an arbor above them. Anarchy of hibiscus, cosmos, avocado, fig, lime. Down the alley, Van, a moon man tending bees.
“The hand is still warm. Five years.”
Labels: hand
posted by murat11 at 10:50 AM
8 Comments:
Hmm a tad creepy ;)
DM: Creepy? It's love, amiga.
Okay, some love can be creepy, too.
Strange statue, not even a pretty hand, a hard working one.
Glennis: I agree. I was going for the image, with less attention paid to details. I envision Arthur Cravan's hands as privileged, softer hands, but I'll need to dig up more on that count. Somewhere in the back of my head, I believe he sparred with the heavyweight boxer Jack Johnson, but that doesn't negate my theory: I think the sparring was...oops, well, I just took a quick moment to scan some information...seems he may have been more rough and tumble than I remembered, though I'm not completely convinced: seems he traded a lot on fabricated reputations: still, the rougher hand in the image may have been a bit of Arthurian revenge on my dismissiveness. Thanks for stopping by.
Okaaay. This is just a little too bizarre today. A dead hand, warm for five years? Just what have the synapses encompassing Tres Leches been feeding on? Rotgut whiskey, White Russians? (Tan Estonians).
Teresa: Probably Black Russians. Knew something was missing from those drinks. Thanks for reminding me. :-D
This, too, speaks to me, in a different, not better, but more beautiful way than olson: mina. Of course it did…I just got done saying, didn’t I? About the different lights… Well, this one is a painfully delightful cactus flower-shaped light, one that I could stare at for hours. And before I tore myself away, I would touch it as a cactus spine to remember the pain for days.
Thank you again, Ms A: it's obviously just short of the end of the construction site over here in Muravia; I knew this had lots of possibilities, and some creekbeds were running, but to go farther was going to take more concentration and time than I had to give when this first rolled out. It's certainly pulling on me, but I'm still not sure it's the novel that I'll be working into the rest of the summer break. We'll see.
Thanks, as always, for your beautiful words.
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