LAST NIGHT THE MOON pressed through thin clouds, leaving a ring of light around it. Almost full, K and I went outside to see grey clouds moving on dark blue, and over the moon. He was wrapped in a blanket, ready to sleep. We drove across town listening to redneck radio until after a while his eyes closed and his head fell to his shoulders. Today's crisp, bright. Hoa felt contractions last night but now she's cleaning the fridge. New features of the day shape us. Aristide flees Port-au-Prince, Marines and CIA threatening. Even local Bubbas stew over this betrayal of "democracy." They call the radio show ranting about a globalist New World Order and the decay of "our" freedoms. "We gotta stand up and fight," shouts the show's host. "We gotta wake up fast before they put all our children in re-education camps and make slaves of us all!" If Lawrence is right, and we are destroyers, and we are cold little death-worshippers, we've entered a period of reckoning and translation. But it's the figure of the black stone I pursue. From the darkness of the womb and into the light of day, these formalities continue. New spring grass shoots up from the clay and grackles this morning release a terrific racket from the trees.
Posted by Dale at April 28, 2004 03:11 PM