underwater light

July 20, 2006 | Filed Under ordinary 

it was black this morning when we emerged from the cold of the sleeping room. the humidity had lifted some, so it seemed, since we didn’t feel like crying when we stepped out and pressed our bodies into the sludge of it. later, it began to rain. heavy sheets of rain that concerned the boys as they stood near the windows, waiting for, jumping at, the thunder. the coffee was hot and i didn’t mind. we sat on the star-porch and watched the gutters dump great bursts of water onto the patio.

the cicadas in the tree outside the study door swell with the traffic, one, then another. in the morning jude will stand at the door and look for rabbits as he does most mornings since the day we saw a rabbit staring at us from the hedge. he remembers, watches, waits.

tonight i carefully fill in the boxes on the order form for new birthday birkenstocks (thanks, lydia, scott, the rest!). i’m terribly afraid of m. kurfess. i’m afraid she’ll send ugly shoes to me and won’t let me exchange or return them.

henry finds new things to do with mr. potatohead, such as give him a thin head, rather than the traditional fat-faced potato that we’re accustomed to. notice the knife in the back in picture number 2. honestly, he wasn’t stabbing violently at all. henry likes the words “buck teeth.” here we have a buck-toothed, thin-faced, potato fireman in shoes that are too big (courtesy of m. kurfess).

the house is a wreck, boxes in piles, toys to step over, hiding under places where they won’t be found until we take the couch to goodwill and roll the rug up to place in a corner spot of a truck. “you’re a very private person,” my mother observes, and i realize that the words burning across my forehead, my chest, the palms of my hands, must only be visible to me as i scuff down the bricks wearing my flip-flops, my poker face. these greenes are nomadic once again, moving towards azaleas and the cabbage palmetto.

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