OCR Text |
Show Moon - 20 herself over to the child. She was a beautiful baby, blonde like Ruth, with hazel eyes so dark they were really David's or maybe Michael's. The baby was quick to demand, as if she wanted the whole world at once. Drinking from a bottle, she finally relaxed and became a warm soft curving against her mother's arms. By the time Anne went back to her mother's house, where she would stay until James told her to move somewhere else, she had decided on a name for the girl: Joy. The name would make it so. The present looks like this: Josh sits at the table, his head resting on the heel of his hand. He is drawing designs for things to huild that will change, in some small way, the quality of someone's life. Out our window, see the mountains held out in dark relief like lumps of coal in the hand of the pale morning moon. Windfall gallops and whirls in the pasture, her tail flung high like a flag, The past keeps its original form, its old treachery, only in silence, in refusal, does not get to come out and kick away its stiffness, which is perhaps why I'm thinking about suicide, against all reason. Lately, I've been waking up in the post midnight hours awash in sweat and dread, and the old secrets hover like dark birds. I'm an art instructor for the local community college. My favorite students are the women who understand that in images it's possible to touch the dark, ancient heart of what we crave. I love that I can sometimes release them |