Graham, Jorie (b. 1950)

With Mother in the Kitchen [from The New Yorker]

December 12, 2016

"The mind too, whirling, vectoring, reaching short but at least / reaching, rising, consigning--towards and towards."

[...]
We wait for it to come, the time.
We are so glad for this wind, it delivers.
The mind too, whirling, vectoring, reaching short but at least
reaching, rising, consigning--towards and towards. Terrible. You’ve got
to love it, dark mess of words and winter--
unwinding--blaze, gleam, build, tear down. I put the kettle back on. We are on
pause. The change of scale in our thinking has occurred. Planetary death so
what is yours. How big. Where do I put it. You were born. You were in time, were
ahead of time all this time and now we are waiting
for it to go on without you in it. That.
When time will go on and you
will not be in time.
What is it we were just
talking about. Your years. There were mornings dew moon highways nation-states
shame law. I was born. That was just yesterday. Far far away you said opening up
the book. I am three. I look at the page. Your hand knows how to turn it
so the next thing
comes about. All will be buried in dirt.

Motion::Whirling Motion::Vectoring Motion::Rising

Reading

Jorie Graham, "With Mother in the Kitchen," The New Yorker (December 12, 2016). <Link to www.newyorker.com>

12/08/2016