he says your name out loud, in miniature rooms where no one's found; it's a desperate sound. you're on the distant shore! and he wants to tell you stories, stories of boys who stomped their feet, saying, "shut, shut up—I am dreaming of places where lovers have wings."

A B C D E

writing / ask

“When You Ask About What Came Before,” by Ilse Bendorf
white adj. 1. Free from color; the hue of new snow or milk. As in,
weary from absorption you've taken to wearing white when you 
pass through town, past other people's elementary schools and 
young bodies in damp garages, past neighbors who don't know 
your secrets except what sneaks through the walls. What's left to 
tell with words, after your past has flung itself around the world in 
filaments? Example: your Minnesota scarecrow has settled in a 
Subsaharan mud hut and will soon adopt a wild dog for 
protection. Example: your hat (the olive one, sort of military 
looking) has a mortgage in the Colorado mountains. Example: 
your Libra, your balance,buried her Minolta in the cemetery after a 
blizzard, dyed a mulberry streak in her hair, and then—the nerve—
wrote to ask, "So where did we leave off?" There is no leaving off 
in white and this is why you wear it. What's left to tell? In a word: 
everything. In two words: mostly everything. But the nowness of 
this windstorm, this bear and honey twilight, keeps it shrouded 
and besides,you would rather ride bikes with friends than 
enumerate the losses. 2. Free from spot or blemish. 3. Consisting 
of a wide range of frequencies, as in, I'm ready to be almost 
entirely visible.

(July 2010)


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