| | I am thinking of the leaky faucet in the laundry room, of bathtubs, of Lake Michigan, of childhood summers spent running on the edges of the Outer Banks. Ocean delicately, sneakily sliding back sand from the shore-line, consuming it, sending it down to uneven terrain lost in blackness. Metronome tap of water slowly chips fragile white from the porcelain basin, and the yellow stain grows microscopically bigger daily. Car wheels squeak their way through a thick layer of ice, and spin in the drifting snow on early morning drives through -3 degree air. Everything is shifting.
In my cup-holder a glass of water has stayed frozen solid, cracked vertically along the sides, for four days now. I press my fingers into its hardness, its fiery cold. I marvel at the slight, damp impressions they leave- semi-circles of warmth- and the white threads that emerge from transparency. When the cold breaks, I will bring the useless, plastic cup into the house and throw it away, and go in search of water that does not show me its whole.
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| | Posted 1/20/2008 6:28 PM - 69 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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