Kenison, Gloria

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sun on poor house squarevillage sq.surelysomethinggrowstheresun& shadow green insect tapping at the leavessomething small ear to wear windmillsrelevant pearly jokes laugh outloudkitchenfarmidolshangingtheparlor has photos tooinmate of sewers & ribbons a cage for mice& cockroaches—  Gloria Kenison Millis MAKEEPING A HOLD ON HIMSELFA man found that by clasping his hands at the fingers he could hold himself together. "All my life," he said "I have searched for a way to hold myself together."But in this position he found it difficult to scratch. If he released his hold on himself he could not stay to gether. If he stayed together he could not scratch.So he hired a young boy in the neighborhood to scratch for him. "Not there," he would say to the boy. "A little lower. No, to the right. And not so hard."The man itched so deeply the boy could not reach the spot. Soon the man, refusing to give up his hold on himself, interviewed new scratchers. But none of them could satisfy the man's incredible itch. None could scratch deeply enough.The man, exhausted from interviewing, decided to quit this silly search for an adequate scratcher. "After all," he would say, "is it not enough that I have finally found a way to hold myself together?"But the itch changed from simple annoyance to deep tickle. And the man, refusing to give up his hold on124himself, began to laugh. Soon his laugh was so loud he kept the neighborhood awake. His laugh was so loud and hard his fingers began to sweat and slip apart. The neighbors worried.If the man's hands should come apart, won't he become a threat to everyone around him? Shouldn't they see to it that this man, grown mad under the weight of his deep itch, be restrained from harming others?So they secured the man's fingers together with tiny ropes and threw him in his basement where he could laugh as loud as he wanted and still keep a hold on himself.THE PASTA mud worm enters my ear and finds an empty cave. He goes to work on the walls, leaving long mud lines. He drags his body in circles, leaving a print of an antelope, a shovel, and a wheel. He works his way across the cave, rubbing his chin until he invents light and places some at intervals along the wall.Later the same day, after the mud worm has crawled through a rear door, a crew of anthropologists enters my ear.They find the cave. They find an antelope, a shovel, a wheel, and ashes on the floor. They pull out their picks and dig just beneath the surface of the wall, putting parts of my brain in sacks.Flashbulbs pop in my ears ....A SHADOW’S LOVE—  for SusanMy shadow is missing. I've tried walking through noon sunshine or standing between a spotlight and white wall, or strapping metal reflectors to my waist. But I haven't received even a collect phone call from my shadow.I think of foul play. One morning someone digging a long narrow hole on the west side of the sidewalk and kidnap­ping shadows as they drop by.I can picture a night train with one dark room, filled by shadows. And my shadow, taught a love of the good life, taken to a city where it waits on some back street under, maybe, a streetlight, to sell itself.125

Village Sq

http://ddd.uab.cat/pub/wormwood/wormwood_a1979v19n4i76/wormwood_a1979v19n4i76p124.pdf

Village Sq

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