Academic journal article Chicago Review

Old Man Watching the Storm

Academic journal article Chicago Review

Old Man Watching the Storm

Article excerpt

I turn a hundred ways toward a few plain objects which turn from me. Forty-one days of drought, then this. I pull the tarp over the rabbits' cages, roll up windows. My time and the time of objects split. Across the hedgerow my neighbor sits amid the thousand empty flower pots of his garage, amid the hoes and traps, the beer signs and shovels. In his chair, through black light, the body that is and isn't there. I call the sheep in, the dogs home. Old man in his cone of light, his juncture of past and future. Tousled hair in tousled shadow. Is dominates. Until the storm comes. I pass and he waves his slow wave. The animals bark back at the thunder. Against the artifice of my lawn the peonies, even swelled as they are with ants, bend and shake loose. Old man with his hand in the air. He holds it out for the first big drops. …

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