conspiracy of firmaments, part the last
Her mother did not rest on the night that she was born. She put on her clothes, shoes with heels, a brown housecoat, bobbypinned her hair back, scooped up her daughter and walked to the front of the clinic. She telephoned her sister, whose husband picked her up and brought her home, where she made dinner for her husband. She sat in the sink as her mother chopped vegetables, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and onions. They didn't have much chicken but she threw a months' collection of bones into the broth. She laid there, susceptible, exposed to the elements as the smell of potatos and the spirits of chickens danced above her in the light.
She would grow older, crawl and walk; get sick and turn yellow. Her first word would be 'Saint.' There was a picture that her parents put up in the dining room to cover a spot on the wall that needed to be covered with a picture. She would point and her mother would say "Saint Christopher" who is not really considered a saint anymore. Her first words in succession would be 'stop it'. She would go to school and learn to lie and become quite good at it. She would fake ear infections to get out of library and periods to get out of gym, as soon as she knew what they were but well before she'd actually had hers.
Her arms grew earlier than her legs and her legs grew earlier than her trunk, freckles were born and dotted her body like some crowded star chart. Her favorite color was glitter, her favorite flavor was bubblegum; her least favorites were green and the medicine that was supposed to taste like strawberries. She exceled in math but found no practical use for it.
The first thing she got really good at lying about was the bruise on her mother's eye. "She's fucking stupid and she hurts herself." She was pissed about her Mom ruining a sleepover, and her mother would be fucking stupid for many years to come. She would play and quit sports on various school teams and the coaches would hate her more than if she hadn't shown any talent at all. She would run track for four years and every year she was a little worse. She would diet and quit dieting and dabble in puking though no one had ever called her fat. She got a reputation for being fast and lost her virginity under a bed.
She liked guys that had cars because she liked being in cars, though they made her sleepy in the passenger seat. She tried many times to leave her home but every time something would happen. She would get pregnant or dumped, lose the baby, lose a job and she kept trying to leave until her fucking stupid mother got sick and had to be taken care of. She taught her daughter the old recipes and died in her sleep and ceased being fucking stupid any more.
She learned to type, and to flirt with customers and fend off bosses. She would write many memos and love letters, all typed, and carry many, many trays. She would fill thirteen hundred crossword puzzles and lose six hundred and five lottery drawings. Her clothes changed with the seasons and the trends. She never lingered on any one for too long. After long days she would clean her home and smoke pot and go to sleep or go to bars where she picked up things like pool and men and heroin and got a reputation for being easy. She found herself falling in love as her father started to give in to cancer and she moved her boyfriend into the house she grew up in on the outskirts of the industrial district and it was bliss. They slept together on the roof all summer long and tracks dotted their arms like the stars above.
They would shoot each other and fight and make up and never get married. He would read always and get inspired and tell her to leave and beg her to leave but sometimes she was as stupid as her fucking mother. Their favorite movies were E.T. and Dr. Strangelove. Their favorite band was the Rolling Stones. Their least favorite food was potato soup which is what she was making on the night that he left. When he saw her next, she was just lying there susceptible, exposed to the elements with the ghosts of potatos and chickens dancing above her just below a crescent moon and crowded evening sky.
She would grow older, crawl and walk; get sick and turn yellow. Her first word would be 'Saint.' There was a picture that her parents put up in the dining room to cover a spot on the wall that needed to be covered with a picture. She would point and her mother would say "Saint Christopher" who is not really considered a saint anymore. Her first words in succession would be 'stop it'. She would go to school and learn to lie and become quite good at it. She would fake ear infections to get out of library and periods to get out of gym, as soon as she knew what they were but well before she'd actually had hers.
Her arms grew earlier than her legs and her legs grew earlier than her trunk, freckles were born and dotted her body like some crowded star chart. Her favorite color was glitter, her favorite flavor was bubblegum; her least favorites were green and the medicine that was supposed to taste like strawberries. She exceled in math but found no practical use for it.
The first thing she got really good at lying about was the bruise on her mother's eye. "She's fucking stupid and she hurts herself." She was pissed about her Mom ruining a sleepover, and her mother would be fucking stupid for many years to come. She would play and quit sports on various school teams and the coaches would hate her more than if she hadn't shown any talent at all. She would run track for four years and every year she was a little worse. She would diet and quit dieting and dabble in puking though no one had ever called her fat. She got a reputation for being fast and lost her virginity under a bed.
She liked guys that had cars because she liked being in cars, though they made her sleepy in the passenger seat. She tried many times to leave her home but every time something would happen. She would get pregnant or dumped, lose the baby, lose a job and she kept trying to leave until her fucking stupid mother got sick and had to be taken care of. She taught her daughter the old recipes and died in her sleep and ceased being fucking stupid any more.
She learned to type, and to flirt with customers and fend off bosses. She would write many memos and love letters, all typed, and carry many, many trays. She would fill thirteen hundred crossword puzzles and lose six hundred and five lottery drawings. Her clothes changed with the seasons and the trends. She never lingered on any one for too long. After long days she would clean her home and smoke pot and go to sleep or go to bars where she picked up things like pool and men and heroin and got a reputation for being easy. She found herself falling in love as her father started to give in to cancer and she moved her boyfriend into the house she grew up in on the outskirts of the industrial district and it was bliss. They slept together on the roof all summer long and tracks dotted their arms like the stars above.
They would shoot each other and fight and make up and never get married. He would read always and get inspired and tell her to leave and beg her to leave but sometimes she was as stupid as her fucking mother. Their favorite movies were E.T. and Dr. Strangelove. Their favorite band was the Rolling Stones. Their least favorite food was potato soup which is what she was making on the night that he left. When he saw her next, she was just lying there susceptible, exposed to the elements with the ghosts of potatos and chickens dancing above her just below a crescent moon and crowded evening sky.
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