Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 16 by Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant Page B
Authors: Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant
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right. Or, if you want to use the phrase “for all intents and purposes,” go ahead.
The next day Mary and Guy and Mrs. Daws stood around me and said “We have something to tell you,” and they told me Clem had fallen down a well. They were stockstill and looked at me to see if what they said was sinking in.
"Don't let us ever, ever catch you going near wells,” they told me. This was not a problem as there were no wells anywhere near our trailer or the Daws’ trailer. I had never seen a well except in stories where curious children fell down them. Probably there were no wells for miles and miles. I wanted to see Rhina so badly but Mrs. Daws said Rhina needed to sleep. Rhina slept and slept, and later, when I did see Rhina, I felt very cold. We both did. After that we moved into a ranch home and I saw her sometimes. I saw little things about her like the stars she painted in silver marker on the cuffs of her jeans and the dramatic method she developed of hopping up into minivans. Then I saw nothing for a long time. And now I am under contract to the University and have papers to grade. Papers about Latin American identity in the rodeo community that are not stapled the way I specified. Can you give me one example of queering from the text? That sort of thing. So please excuse me.
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The Grandson of Heinrich Schliemann
David Lunde
I had never seen a man wearing a wolf before. He'd made a vest of it. It smelled. I was sitting on the splintery wooden lid of the old adobe cistern in the farmyard. This was in Ibiza. It was July, hot and Mediterranean, 1969, and I was looking at the moon, golden and enormous there in the early evening. I was attempting to see the image of a hare that the Chinese see, but it still looked like a human face, less harrowed tonight than usual.
"Hallo, what are you doing?” the man asked.
"Looking at the moon."
"Ha! you are the one they call poeta, ja ?"
" Ja , I mean, yes."
"Then you must do this, ja ? For you, the moon is television!"
"I guess you could put it that way; maybe I'm just a lunatic.” This guy lived up to the stories I'd heard.
"Is it true that you are the grandson of Heinrich Schliemann?” I asked. I had always admired Schliemann for his imagination and perseverance.
" Ja , he vas a great man, my grandfather. Eferyone vas saying he vas crazy, ja , but he is making them be stupid!"
"He certainly did; three cities of Troy, not just one, pretty amazing."
"Not amazing. He vas knowing it."
"From Homer, you mean. Everyone thought it was a myth but it wasn't."
" Ja , and you, you are writing true things in your poems?
"Well,” I said, thinking about it, “I guess so, true for me anyway."
" Ja , just so. If they are being true for you, they vill be true for eferybody."
I pondered Kurt's logic; it would be nice to be able to believe that.
"Why are you carrying that axe?” I asked, finally getting up the nerve.
"For the bears."
"Ah, bears...” I was sure there hadn't been bears here since the last Ice Age. “I'll bet they don't give you much trouble then."
" Nein , they are knowing I have the axe. They smell it, ja ?"
Or the dead wolf, I thought.
Later I went to Bar Anita for a cerveza . The whole village was gathered there, gaping. The moon was on television; television was on the moon. Neil Armstrong was taking a giant step for mankind. I wondered if he'd seen the hare.
Walking home in the dark, I was nervous.
I didn't have an axe.
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Scenes
Chris Fox
Punk-rock mimes crashed the Spoken Word festival I'd organized.
They detailed, through gesture alone, their mutual entrapment in a box called
Society.
I guess I prefer irony in less obvious forms:
remember the time we rented that cannibal documentary and my VCR ate the tape?
We were so happy then—two outcasts, two oranges ostracized from the rhyming dictionary of the world...
Now I simply drink my orange juice alone as childish ideas and childish
The next day Mary and Guy and Mrs. Daws stood around me and said “We have something to tell you,” and they told me Clem had fallen down a well. They were stockstill and looked at me to see if what they said was sinking in.
"Don't let us ever, ever catch you going near wells,” they told me. This was not a problem as there were no wells anywhere near our trailer or the Daws’ trailer. I had never seen a well except in stories where curious children fell down them. Probably there were no wells for miles and miles. I wanted to see Rhina so badly but Mrs. Daws said Rhina needed to sleep. Rhina slept and slept, and later, when I did see Rhina, I felt very cold. We both did. After that we moved into a ranch home and I saw her sometimes. I saw little things about her like the stars she painted in silver marker on the cuffs of her jeans and the dramatic method she developed of hopping up into minivans. Then I saw nothing for a long time. And now I am under contract to the University and have papers to grade. Papers about Latin American identity in the rodeo community that are not stapled the way I specified. Can you give me one example of queering from the text? That sort of thing. So please excuse me.
[Back to Table of Contents]
The Grandson of Heinrich Schliemann
David Lunde
I had never seen a man wearing a wolf before. He'd made a vest of it. It smelled. I was sitting on the splintery wooden lid of the old adobe cistern in the farmyard. This was in Ibiza. It was July, hot and Mediterranean, 1969, and I was looking at the moon, golden and enormous there in the early evening. I was attempting to see the image of a hare that the Chinese see, but it still looked like a human face, less harrowed tonight than usual.
"Hallo, what are you doing?” the man asked.
"Looking at the moon."
"Ha! you are the one they call poeta, ja ?"
" Ja , I mean, yes."
"Then you must do this, ja ? For you, the moon is television!"
"I guess you could put it that way; maybe I'm just a lunatic.” This guy lived up to the stories I'd heard.
"Is it true that you are the grandson of Heinrich Schliemann?” I asked. I had always admired Schliemann for his imagination and perseverance.
" Ja , he vas a great man, my grandfather. Eferyone vas saying he vas crazy, ja , but he is making them be stupid!"
"He certainly did; three cities of Troy, not just one, pretty amazing."
"Not amazing. He vas knowing it."
"From Homer, you mean. Everyone thought it was a myth but it wasn't."
" Ja , and you, you are writing true things in your poems?
"Well,” I said, thinking about it, “I guess so, true for me anyway."
" Ja , just so. If they are being true for you, they vill be true for eferybody."
I pondered Kurt's logic; it would be nice to be able to believe that.
"Why are you carrying that axe?” I asked, finally getting up the nerve.
"For the bears."
"Ah, bears...” I was sure there hadn't been bears here since the last Ice Age. “I'll bet they don't give you much trouble then."
" Nein , they are knowing I have the axe. They smell it, ja ?"
Or the dead wolf, I thought.
Later I went to Bar Anita for a cerveza . The whole village was gathered there, gaping. The moon was on television; television was on the moon. Neil Armstrong was taking a giant step for mankind. I wondered if he'd seen the hare.
Walking home in the dark, I was nervous.
I didn't have an axe.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Scenes
Chris Fox
Punk-rock mimes crashed the Spoken Word festival I'd organized.
They detailed, through gesture alone, their mutual entrapment in a box called
Society.
I guess I prefer irony in less obvious forms:
remember the time we rented that cannibal documentary and my VCR ate the tape?
We were so happy then—two outcasts, two oranges ostracized from the rhyming dictionary of the world...
Now I simply drink my orange juice alone as childish ideas and childish
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