SandScript 2020

Partial Family Portrait
Steve Nagy
On the left stands my Uncle Tibor, circa 1982.
Dressed like a Franciscan friar, he is proud of
the pleats he has sewn into his brown serge habit.
POETRY
It pleases him to think that somewhere,
someone is beating a woman with a razor
strop. He hopes she is kneeling on all fours.
He hopes she is that squat Polish washerwoman
who left him one afternoon at the beach.
Soon he will swear he hears her footprints and,
in falsetto, he will begin to sing: “My love, My love/
O Song of Bright January Moon/Come Thunder/ Bring
me a summer poem/ Sing me a soft October tune.”
That will be the time to return him to the asylum.
Six years later at midnight, turning forty, Uncle Tibor
will hang himself in the zoo with the knotted cord he
wears around his waist. His note shall read: Reality
Demands the Sacrifice.
I am 20 years old and standing next to Uncle Tibor.
I am dressed like John Travolta in my cream colored
three-piece suit. It’s the summer of amphetamines and
archaeology and alcohol. I am an actor with a soul patch,
working at the gas station while prepping for my roles in
Look Homeward Angel, St. Joan and The Jew of Malta.
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