Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The Day Before Today

Suddenly everything came to a stuttering stop. Drumming a tympani on the taut of his stomach, the man in the hat ambled southward. Moseying, he ambled southward. Today was the day before the sky threw itself into the turbid waters of the aqueduct. The day before today, yesterday, was a day well forgotten; a day full of pickling and yaw. The day before today the dogmen, the littlest to the biggest, spiced and smoked their catch of eels, creel baskets hung in the branches of the fichus, the unpalatable offal of fish oil and smoke breaking wind with the sky. ‘…what a strange day…’ said the man in the hat, ‘…and getting stranger by the minute…’. The man in the hat set off for the woodland beyond the Waymart, his feet cracking like autumn leaves, the sun sitting low in the noontide sky.

That morning Lela awoke from troubled dreams. The sun stretched like a bolt of cloth across her bed, blanketing her from harm and misjudgment. Today was the day she had an appointment with the manager of the Waymart, a manager by the name of Kym’s. Jumping from bed, her hands swiping quibbles of soft morning air, she made her toilet and ate a small delicate breakfast, a slice of Bib’s bread lightly toasted, a deli-glass of grapefruit juice and ¼ of a yellow apricot. She brushed her hair, buttoned her blouse, a pale yellow little girls’ blouse, looped her belt through her skirt, a blue gabardine throw-off, and laced her shoes, scuffed pumps with a thumb-size hole in both soles, and left slamming the door behind her, a banshee of hot morning sun pricking the skin on her face.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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