From 00518f7b9d0299b11875b24455b085fa3c2f1e13 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Tue, 28 May 2024 18:12:03 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/idumea/005.md | 25 ++++++++++++++++++++++++- 1 file changed, 24 insertions(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md b/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md index 268701ac..762144fa 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md +++ b/writing/post-self/idumea/005.md @@ -78,4 +78,27 @@ She smiled — another blessing! — and nodded to me. "We sat in the solarium and spoke about what reading *is.* She spoke of taking a story or a poem and wrapping oneself up in it. She gave me an example. She recited a poem: - +> Too many suits move in too many lines. +> They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed, +> hunting crudites, canapés, bruscheta. +> Fingers ferry food — fish, perhaps — finding +> slack-jawed mouths already open, +> squawking at wayward children +> or bemoaning The Market, +> whatever that may be. +> At some point, who cares how long ago, +> death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again. +> Who knows how well they knew him, +> their backs turned, studiously +> deciding that he is no longer of them? +> one could never guess. +> We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps, +> that the room is tastefully furnished, +> the coffin silver, the bar, open, +> quite good, and none of them are drunk yet, +> or at least none look it. +> “Good man, good man,” they mutter, +> doing all they can to convince each other +> through well-rehearsed performances, +> that this must be the case. +> The silently bereaved already sit graveside.