| Long Day's Journey by Jacqueline Marcus | ||
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Listening to the wind last night in the twisted cedar, the moon raking its leaves across an empty field, owl, baffled by the cicada's chant, I could scarcely make out the foghorn, flashing its mute notes across the waves. And it reminded me of that sad woman's addiction, a long day's journey into the night, the gull's hunger, its diligent strife, untying the knot at the void's end, the way the cars sleep on through the bright rain in the middle of winter, luck's refrain, blasting the metaphorical shore, its irresistible waves, down and under, down and under, like Dante's ghosts. And even the sea heaves its slow surrender. Isn't that what she wanted— to relinquish the long day's ache? to give in to the pines, tipped in the wind's magenta? Isn't that why she despised that lousy house with its moan of decorum, its shelves of dust and pale doors? She just wanted out. Like the slow notes of the cello, the bitter rush, late at the day's end. Tonight, the moon soaks down the leaves, and I am grateful to hear the owl, somewhere out there in the aspen trees. _________________________________________________________________________ Click here for A Note on the Editor, Jacqueline Marcus
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