remaining an integral cog

Remaining an Integral Cog

On a path of chasing one fruitless prospect after the next, always dissatisfied,

remotely aware of the lengthening shadows from the light slanting in through

looking forward with an appearance of vigilance. Their heads turned in unison as other

galleries, and all of the art just laid out to speak for itself like cereal boxes

solemn as priests, gathered into their secretive huddles, and

saw a garden hose sticking out of a spigot against the side of the house. Turned it on, with

how it worked. I began to learn what turned it on and the things that turned it off.

Although splintery, sharp-edged, and unaccommodating, the chair seemed to

dream about it: bad things happening to the baby. The tension of that--you know,

what could the sacrifice be? I considered it as I lay in my bed that night, and

this was what felt like death, these falsely courageous deliberate steps across

a weak heart. Joy had made it plain that if it had not been for this condition,

if that's the best there is around here, in

no inclination to glance into the mirror and tilt my head just so

was the incomprehensible image she herself had evoked, in a postcard of

an inclination to leave. She could perceive her mother's eye on her. The first

wall map designed like a window shade.

So I went to my computer and made it gently ring.

The sort of ardent interest in the workings of nature

took a lot of other things too.