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11/27/2009 6:26:08 AM
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In school it had been important to learn the names of battleships, diseases, museums, kings, the internal scheme of the squid which is called taxonomy but outside, in the fields, it seemed most important to know the names of sex organs: vulva, Mount Olympus, anadromous pod and that was called soccer practice. Beside me in Earth Science sat Debbie until she was killed by a Volkswagen so the rest of the year I did the experiments alone. Say crack my fingers backwards, she whispered while I tried to organize plastic seashells. The earth had folded into itself many times. Ann, Jill, Brenda, Elizabeth. Kinesis, the golgi apparatus, the ellipsis. Give up, go to bed, dream. Then to wake up twenty years later after a party knowing you behaved perfectly shamefully, the brain is threatened sea life, astronomers predict discs of dust hold clues to the birth of the universe and then to make tea and telephone apologies. What was her name, the one by the door? Expostulations of orange juice. Purple clouds. Twice I jumped from an airplane to forget a beautiful woman who was sleeping with some guy instead of me who made guitars from scratch. Handprints on an aquarium, tissue paper. Irregular envelopes. To begin, each player selected a game piece. She was beautiful and drunk but not as drunk as her dress which kept hailing cabs even at the party. Beneath the clothing is the skin and beneath the skin, viscera, bones but beneath that there is just the skin of the other side so clearly something is unaccounted for. Green river, lobelia, lightbulb shaped like a flame, a chair shaped like a shoe. The last time I landed, I forgot all I learned throwing myself from a practice flight of stairs. It drove me crazy, the way she smiled at strangers and I could never be a stranger. A thousand feet above the earth, hanging from a handkerchief. Dean Young
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