Posts Tagged ‘cage’

clearing out a bunch of old stuff.

 

I’m at Old Buck’s Eyebrow. How’s that for a name? I’ll have to inquire about its origin. Oh, and I totally forgot to find out about the frog butler.

Christmas Cove, some island near South Bristol, Maine. All I can hear is in my head is

—what about Maine? Have you ever been to Maine? Stephen King Lives in Maine. It’s wonderful, plenty of those creepy little islands

Best part of the trip is reading. Everyone up here is reading and leaving each other the fuck alone.

I lost track of days. Today is the first day of fog. Delphi says we lucked out with the weather, but I like it this way. Feels familiar. I can sit out in the mist without the sun beating down too hard. On the porch with a beer and tea and chocolates and addy.

I am too indulgent with myself. I take one of the big chocolates, the one I know is toffee and eat it in two bites. It makes my teeth hurt, churns my stomach. Too sweet for me. I grin and lick off the bits stuck on my lips.

For the girls I will cut them into thirds so they can share, put them on a little plate for tea cakes. There are so many plates and cups in this house. I want to eat off of all of them before I go.

Every time I sit, all that’s in front of me is descent. I dread the fuckin thing now. Each day the damn book get heavier, but I have to finish it before too much new business.

Reading Garner make me think to my own Grendel. She’s been waiting for me since college, but I push aside those sentences. Goddamnit I HAVE to finish at lease CAGE this weekend. Sarah is waiting.

Everyone is waiting on me.

Fog pulls back a little and I can see Crow Island again, but nothing else. Ospreys in a line and a boat out at the lobster buoys.

At least I’m getting up earlier.

Plenty of daylight left

Cage cage cage cage cage… through the dying firelight. Keep moving. Write more tomorrow.

At a used bookstore in… forgot the name. where I bought Evangeline, also picked up a copy of Blind Assassin, a collection of DH Lawrence stories, a collection of Italian Folk Tales by Calvino (this would make a perfect gift for the padre, but fuck it, I’m selfish), a collection called Officer Friendly by someone I knew briefly at Iowa.

Those shelves need filling and I’m pretty sure a box of books was lost pulled out four crates from the garage in Dallas and couldn’t find what I was looking for. Oh well.

Maybe the new bookcases are just making me feel small.

Fuck this noise.

I’m going for a walk.

 

 

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The cage was distinctly person shaped. That much was unmistakable. There was really no better way to put it.

I could give you the dimensions: just shy of seven feet high, a foot, maybe eighteen inches deep, two or three feet wide. At least that’s what the man guessed. (He didn’t know exactly. He wasn’t all that good at measuring things with his eyes, but roughly equivalent to the interior of a coffin.) But the best way to describe the size and shape of the thing was person.

The two men standing on Canal Street, already sweating, with the wrought piece of black iron between them, waved their arms at passing taxis. They had dragged it past the queue along the front of Union Station each driver waving them on and now they stood on the corner.

There was no shortage of starring as the two men carried the thing east. Up and over the bridge where people cursed or shook heads as they were forced to maneuver around them. Halfway across, the pair moved to the reddish iron grating of the street so other people could still use the sidewalk. Though the drivers of cars were not happy with this decision.

After they turned off of Monroe, they had to lift the cage over their heads, so as to fit down the stairs to the subway. Downstairs, they shouldered it then put it upright on the floor as the first man, the one in the grey wool coat went through the handicapped entrance with the swinging door instead of the turnstile and held it open. The second man, the one in the leather jacket began leaning the metal contraption and set it down on the floor so it would prop open the entrance.

The CTA attendant, by this time was lending her full attention from the windows of her kiosk, as had the Chicago police officer with whom she had been chatting and receiving Duncan donuts breakfast.

-exuse me sirs, y’all can’t take that on the train.