Issue Five

Autumn 2012



8:00 porridge and tea.
9:30 we sit in straightback cane
chairs and roll the ball back and forth
calling out encouragements.
10:30 we tune our voices together
bending errant notes to the
strident march of the hymn.
Once all the sheaves are brung in,
we write short letters. Vinegar
scrubs the floor and shrieks
are quickly quarantined, shut off.
But not before you hear someone
calling for her mother, always,
regardless of their past relationship,
her mother. Community work.
Polishing spigots as apron knots sour.
The French lady always spoke so beautifully
we would beg her to speak again: demiglasse
Her patrician hands, tender towards
sobbing shoulders, arranged about them
just so, like a shawl and you really forgot
they strangled her husband one night.
Noon: tapioca and overcooked
potatoes and corn. One: rest. Two:
letters home. Carefully scripted.
Three: a short stroll, weather allowing.
Inexplicably flourishing at low altitude
alder brush. Rent possum, one of its poor
kidneys out on the pavement,
awkward portraiture of indiscretion.
A twig with lichen thrown into
the creek. Four: talking or talking
about not talking and then talking.
Five, unease and board games,
a sob knotting up in the throat.
Lacunae, Lacunae the mockingbird
perched on the loblolly pine
outside the brown papered study
intermittently cries. Six, dinner.
Seven, a program perhaps.
Some Episcopalians who want to
remember God’s poor for an hour.
8:00 strict preparations for the dark.



Jenn Blair



eagle fractal