rhubarb magazine

More documents

Recommendations

Info

12 Rhubarb come on medea By Jarrett Storey come on, medea calm yrself, young sundaughter test yr exactness at my worn shoulder careful not to touch much I want you to come undressed &plotting long in the teeth without firebreathers, narcoticless & hypnotizable I want to outlive this veinlong feeling; I want like you want: to give & ungive in fell through time swoops sweep like rain rust out time ’s long night I want our mouth muscles to remember the taste of metal before language at the long tongue’s languid flick & lash after all, aren’t we argonauts too? creeping with the criminal’s urge to see our done damage redone but we’re careful tragedi ans mindful enough not to sing too strong in a clean island murder key lest our crowsong plays to long our flightlessness: never to unrest our resting giants’ rest
They had each entered the kitchen through opposing doorways. He descended the twelve stairs from the second storey of the house with duffle bag in hand. She entered from the basement with a basket full of anemic, threadbare towels. Their heated redolent aura was impalpable. She set the wicker basket on the floor and shuffled to the sink. Her old green flip-flops, which she wore year round, made a whishing sound as they connected with the floor. The cheerless beige kitchen surrounded her with an indifferent aspect. A wallpaper border of Canada geese circled the top of the room in endless flight. She glanced through the window above the sink. The view was hazy, obscured by moisture, because the seal had dried out years ago. The distorted vision of their small backyard irritated her and caused her to look away. She reached over to the stove for the stainless steel kettle. It mirrored her wrinkled, sallow skin. Weariness had embraced her face, drawn out its length, and altered the skin below her eyes into deep purple depressions. She was dog-tired. The living room couch, where she slept, had been uncooperative last night. Her neck ached and muscle spasms shot up and down her spine. She sat down for a moment, easing herself into one of the wobbly kitchen chairs. He was seated at the opposite end of the table from her but turned slightly to his right. Last year’s calendar was tacked to the wall behind him. Its length shadowed the top of his head, an errant halo. Her eyes took in, and then dismissed, the duffle bag on the floor by his side. He was dressed for the day, his hair carefully styled, face ruddy. She could tell that he’d already had his morning shower Neglect By Valerie Stelck and shave. She couldn’t remember the name of his aftershave but there was a trace of its musky scent in the air. She had allowed herself to melt into the essence of the house; a mute eidolon moving through its walls. The house in which she had spent twenty years of marriage. She was more married to it than to him. She knew that they had both done only enough maintenance to sustain their existence. Her eyes swept over to the stove, the kettle whistled impatiently. She got up and poured the boiling water into an old brown teapot. She peered through the window, again. Her eyes were fixed, trance-like, upon the gloomy spring sky, a gray formless canvas. She dropped her eyes to the dirty melting snow pile in the far west corner of the yard, a silent reminder of the difficult winter that had just passed. That corner of the yard had been a fertile garden ten years ago. She remembered him entering the yard that day, through the gate that was adjacent to the one-car garage. His tall slender frame embraced a large black and white teddy bear. “For the baby!” Winter 2008 13
Page 1 and 2: Rhubarb Winter 2008, Issue Number 2
Page 3 and 4: I’ve always, frankly, been a litt
Page 5 and 6: Belinda rearranged the porcelain fi
Page 7 and 8: together sometime? Maybe we could h
Page 9 and 10: Me and Him and the Moon It’s 3 am
Page 11: Moonlit macadam By Brenda Sciberras
Page 15 and 16: Author’s Note: Unlike a novel, in
Page 17 and 18: The reddish-blond hair he was alway
Page 19 and 20: teeth and a hundred cameras would b
Page 21 and 22: Not a Chicken By John Goossen Jack
Page 23 and 24: It was an out of season thing, snow
Page 25 and 26: Afternoon Walk with Mosquitos and C
Page 27 and 28: Damp Ode By Jeff Gundy Life, friend
Page 29 and 30: Liese is ten years old, and she’s
Page 31 and 32: She argues against it and sometimes
Page 33 and 34: The women took turns telling Liese
Page 35 and 36: Children alone in the hospitals By
Page 37 and 38: What you need the least Ike hasn’
Page 39 and 40: Warm day, I say. Still too wet to s
Page 41 and 42: An unfriendly takeover Mierau, Maur
Page 43 and 44: and possibly mean, they can’t be
Page 45 and 46: Quite a number of the characters in
Page 47 and 48: CBC radio. Her novel, One Smooth St

rhubarb magazine

Create successful ePaper yourself

Delete template?

Save as template?