Page 128 - The Geography of Women

114 Jack Fritscher

back to the porch, kinda sweet, kinda perfect in the moon-
light, two people findin each other so two other people
ain’t tortured bein married to em.
I had a house which was a inn which could be a real
nice home. I had always lived at the heart a fidelity, an
time made me steadfast, cuz when you make a house a
home, your life—whatever it is—comes through the door.
When I was a high-school girl, an Jessarose disappeared,
I right away understood the story a why Penny Lope, the
wife a Ulysses, unrav eled her knittin every night, cuz the
other part a Jessarose’s farewell song, “Bye-Bye Black-
bird,” was “Make my bed and light the light. I’ll arrive
late tonight,” so I kept my true-hope heart burnin like a
beacon.
Standin in my lilies, I watched Wilmer light Mizzy’s
cigaret an fetch her drink. She puffed an sipped an sipped
an puffed an had googly eyes only for Wilmer an never
once looked over at Mister Henry standin in his bermuda
shorts between the outstretched legs a Rosie Donovan sit-
tin in yellow short-shorts in the swing hangin from the
high oak tree. Mister Henry never looked at Mizz Lula-
belle an Mister Fox flirtin on the porch, an John an James,
the Apples’ twins, carryin sparklers ran circles so bright
in the night they hurt your eyes. I squeezed my forefinger
an thumb across my eyelids, an looked again, cuz I was
amazed in the actual twilight to be actually experiencin
the actual visual uncertainty where soft colors that merge
into each other without sharp bound aries seem to fade into
white, which is even more scientific than the Pregnancy
Veil, an explains just about everythin about a vision.
Claudeen Thomas at the piano began to play “Red
Sails in the Sunset” an couples rose up all over the porch
an from blankets spread on the lawn to slow dance in the

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