Standing between the hot, vibrating fender and the seat, there was just room enough for me to ride beside my father on the tractor. At three miles an hour, we went up and down the vineyard rows, transported by the mellow, acoustic hum of the gas engine as dozens of blackbirds crowded behind us to hunt for worms and bugs in the newly turned soil. This, too, was paradise. There […]
Out from a room heavy with light and oppressive with talk and laughter, into the sweet chocolate night, the wood smoke, and fog — and no one knows me when I return; but my body is familiar to them, my hat and my hair — they recognize my clothes and are satisfied. Maybe that’s all I was to them before? A ghost, a mirror, nothing more? [ 582 ]
Sunday evening and the house is calm, the voices have returned to the street and their bodies have followed them, their bodies have gone to the stars, gone to the moss on the sidewalks and cushioned retaining walls, to the dogwood leaves on the ground and the soft velvet cedar, padding on dark wild feet with sharp nails exposed to the frost, where the owl shakes down a wealth of […]
William Michaelian 