OCR Text |
Show Moon -113 downtown side streets are flooded and the Filipinos are getting around in dugout canoes. Her husband's face is dark, clouded with some new strange trouble. He is not exactly sad that Joy is gone, Anne thinks, but almost angry, which puzzles her, keeps the lines on her forehead constant. It was right for Joy to leave, of that Anne is certain. She has been thrown into a strange reverie about her brother Michael. It was right, too, for him to leave home when he did. The rains slash through the tall grass and make her clutch at her belly and gasp. Nothing is pallid in this wholehearted place. It's either violent storms or sunlight and color that rapes a mind attuned to Plymouth Rock sensibilities, tight circles, life never bigger than itself. Even the nights are different here: the darkness unfolds like a black flower, spewing out perfumes, the stars dripping in thick clusters like sex-crazed bits of pollen. FALLING FOR NO REASON Mother, how I wish I could have told you about those years in art school! Yes, I sent letters, but I didn't sing it, was afraid you'd envy me, having once wanted to be an artist yourself, or that you'd guess at my enormous relief to be away. You'd have seen I had it in me after all to live up to my name. Joy, I'd |