By Rusty Morrison
like water in water --George Bataille
Eggs, transparent and sometimes red-veined as insect wings, might be hidden
in bark crevices
or a scatter of tawny leaves.
The distance between one gestation and the next, a pleat of the dress I wear
carelessly,
as if I could sew myself another.
Practiced, my tendon-reflex where the tunnel narrows its halo
into a noose. I trust
dexterity as a kind of nourishment, as I believe my own
mother couldn't.
To own, beauty is the first lie of it, and brief
as incident
is gray
thistles turning silver in sunrise as if for my eyes alone.
I see you surround me, mother, measuring what my exoskeleton
withstands. Embellishment
is thin. When the eye inside blinks, its bone-house splinters. No eye inside sky
but an insect
drone can cause the entire horizon, seasonal
as hindsight
which follows rain. No death
will stop measurement
spiraling out, a long ribbon of salt I must choose repeatedly to cross.
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I spent most of Saturday trying to find a missing camera battery (thank goodness for Amazon $6 next-day delivery for Prime members) and packing, moving, and unpacking all the things Daniel has accumulated over two years in his apartment in College Park. There are about ten laundries' worth of linens, towels, and clothes, and I don't want to think about how much other stuff to sort through! He's home for barely more than a month and we have to go to Seattle to find an apartment, see every doctor, buy clothes, etc.
We had dinner with my parents, then we came home for more chores and Jupiter Ascending, which is exactly as terrible as I had been told -- Eddie Redmayne's performance is, um, unforgettable, and intergalactic beekeeper Sean Bean is just a thing of beauty. All the characters are train wrecks; that said, the women are more interesting than the men, the heroine kicks all kinds of ass without conforming to any stupid Strong Woman stereotypes, and it passes the Bechdel test! Washingtonian Lake parents and babies:
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