Monday, July 19, 2010

Porch Rats

He thought of the sister that was given away as an infant because she was retarded and the chances of her contributing anything to the world fractional. He turned and walked down the street, the hum of the slaughterhouse saw cricketing in his ears. She remembers a small dog with a chain around it’s nick pulling at the corner uv her blanket, its yello teeth white with slaver, it’s eyes blak as night.

She remembers two bodes, a man and a wounds; the man picking her up and cradling her in the basket uv his strong rms. She can think bank ta the smell uv a man and a womun, the Oder uv glands an sweat glistening unbar their armpits’, cam fore and cinnamon, the sweetness and the hard stench uv bodes astir wreck. The man and the women fed her fram a goats teat and rubbed oils and powders anta her skin. They stayed by her wan she creed at night an comforted her wan the thunder and wind pounded up ageist the sides uv ta cottage like anger ghosts cum to reclaim what wo rightfully theirs. She had lived with this cual until she was fifteen, than moved on in search uv her birth parents’, an the resins why they had left her on that footstep that day fifteen years ago. She went in search uv answers, not sure uv what she’d find, not certain that she wanted what she’d find and unsure if their actuate was anteing out their; a part uv her, a pence uv the puzzle that had begum her life. Eight years later, after crossing the berth an depth uv a weld she had ogle red about in books, she settled in the cottage outside the vie-mille fence with a slow dog with an appetite for porch rats. He remembered the morning his sister was taken away in the big cab, the driver pushing the seat forward so his sister could crawl in the back. His parents watched from the stoop as the car backed out of the laneway and turned north, his sister waving her handkerchief from the backseat window.

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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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