She was carrying a single tomato in the left cup of the turquoise brassiere she had
removed. There was a pair of bright yellow underwear in the pear tree.
She had not yet realized she was going to leave the husband with a mind like a
bulldozer and a heart like a wren. She was summoning the green creature inside. She was
acknowledging the violent sunset and feeling without thinking that between her legs lies
the happiest dockside dive on the face of the earth. A delighted raunchy exuberance.
What did his mother tell him about this? Without a single word, she sat,
self-satisfied, behind the door he had taken a lifetime to open.
Could he offer anything without shame? The compact and delicious affluence
overwhelming her. He can think of it only as loss. Exile. An exquisite Argentina of the
throat overthrows the explanation, to which he still clings.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.