Boy And Girl example essay topic
478 words
How to Listen I am going to cock my head tonight like a dog in front of McGlinchy's Tavern on Locust; I am going to stand beside the man who works all day combing his thatch of gray hair corkscrewed in every direction. I am going to pay attention to our lives unraveling between the forks of his fine-tooth comb. For once, we won't talk about the end of the world or Vietnam or his exquisite paper shoes. For once, I am going to ignore the profanity and the dancing and the jukebox so I can hear his head crackle beneath the sky's stretch of faint stars. Jet Lag Oriented, suddenly Aurora, I rise without alarm in the random dark, Already full of purpose, without coffee Or tea, to the cat's delight, revving her pleasure. Breakfast is a poem, light, in good measure, A grapefruit split to reveal the spokes and rays Of the sunburst wheels on a golden chariot. I dress, I shake the dew drops from tips of my tresses. It is as if I can hear them, imagined horses, Astir in the stable, fogging the air with their breath, Snug under blankets, awaiting the curry comb And oats, ready to set out over the hill, Over the sleeping city, over the sill Of the sea, islands dribbled like pancake batter, Knowing where I am is always East, Always ahead of the day that's going to matter. Simple Arithmetic I am still imagining the men lined up, the ones I imagine who want me. I'll tell you everything I know: there was a boy, a girl, and a boat.
And palm trees, but the mosquito's on the island chased them back to the boat. There was a boy, a girl, and a dog: I still can't get the story straight - magic fruit? straw into gold? - and night's black velvet has arrived. I am glad for my life and the high clear voices of four-year-olds in the Allegan Public Library. I am not the girl in the story - I am the girl whose mouth is mainly shut but who imagines it open. But where are the other boy and girl? Holding hands and walking into the library while a baby falls out of a pile of money with astonishing grace.
She's afraid to go beyond the normal bounds of conversation, the simple arithmetic of the heart. An electric blue butterfly darts in front of the car, just beyond reach and the camera's focus. The clocks tick, their greedy faces shine. The money will always fall out of our hands. We will always be slightly out of place, standing behind ourselves, not getting anywhere - no island, no boat, and no one to save us.
