Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Trey's Days No. 21


    Remembering the page numbers as an exercise, no book mark
37, 57, 78,
    The "Memory of Old Jack" flashing back and forth, 1888, today, 1892, today, the tobacco field
the barber shop, the old house with the new bride, standing on the porch then, standing on the porch now
     "He was like on old silver back ape, transferring his anxiety onto the women he dominated, enjoyed, sired"
Insulted, knowing it's true, made a stink about it, realized it was true, remembered how true it was.
     Told old Ed about it, who didn't know what a silver back ape was, and told him about "The Memory of Old Jack" and about the work thing, and about the times that excellence had given way to indolence, and he told a story about teaching and anxiety and change and finding a place; much good crying is done there.
     This is a time for late pregnancy, for fecundity, for the moment before Isaac's rain, a time before, a time between, after the silver back has gone his miserable way, a time after baking, a time after the Handel and the Bach, a time before something unknown; Lord knows, always, the Lord knows, but he ain't tellin'.
     The little red stuffed dinosaur reminds, the feed sack cookie jar reminds, Old Jack reminds, Wendell Berry reminds, old Ed reminds, that remembering, it is not too late.
      In their unqualified love, in their obedience, in their rapt attention, in the sweet smell of tender memory, Hope makes her silent presence known, and she hovers like an angel, like a mother over a crib, like a cloud of expectant energy, like a hurricane a day and a half away, coming but yet a clear sky, patient, imminent, yet unknown, expected.  Believe my child.  Soon enough you will know.

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