It is as if I could dip my hand down into time and scoop up blue and green lozenges of April heat a year ago in another country.
Out the window I can see dead leaves ticking over the flatland and dregs of snow scarred by pine filth.
I rinse the face and return to bed. Whacher is what she was. Also my main fear, which I mean to confront. She shifted to a question about airports.
I saw the lines harden. Meanwhile Emily continued to brush into the carpet the question, Why cast the world away. I wait a moment Brilliant as a spaceship it exhales cold confusion.
Spring opens like a blade there. And when she was 14 and bitten by a rabid dog she strode they say into the kitchen and taking red hot tongs from the back of the stove applied them directly to her arm.
Bluish dusk fills the room like a sea slid back. I turn and start to recross the moor towards home. That was a night that centred Heaven and Hell, as Emily would say. Sometimes she calls it Thou. At the middle of the moor where the ground goes down into a depression, the ice has begun to unclench.
We tried to fuck but he remained limp, although happy. I notice the sun has dimmed and the afternoon air sharpening. Once I heard girls singing a May Day song that went: Black open water comes curdling up like anger. She says it gave her peace. Cauterization of Heathcliff took longer.
This is not uncommon. What kind of necessity is that? My mother lives alone and eats little but her fridge is always crammed. She whached eyes, stars, inside, outside, actual weather.
Each morning I sat on the floor in front of my sofa and chanted bits of old Latin prayers. De profundis clamavi ad te Domine. This is my favourite author. But there is more to it than that. The last time I saw Law was a black night in September. Woman alone on a hill. She worked in total six months of her life at a school in Halifax and died on the sofa at home at 2 P.
For someone hooked up to Thou, the world may have seemed a kind of half-finished sentence.The Glass Essay By Anne Carson About this Poet Anne Carson is a poet, essayist, professor of Classics, and translator.
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Disclaimer: This work has been submitted by a student. This is not an example of the work written by our professional academic writers. The Art of making of Stain Glass. THE GLASS ESSAY / and other weather we may expect to experience when we enter Emily's electrical atmosphere.
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