|
2001-09-25 || 11:31 p.m. || tuesday night walk about || tonight i listened to my feet make sounds against sidewalk on the way home. two feet. three bars. three empty parking lots. two bus stops with benches. the corner was cluttered with people, different ages, tshirts, scarves. a man watched me as i walked by. i smiled the kindergarten portrait smile (mouth drawn in a curve, no teeth no tongue inside just black expanse, cheeks like apples located on this branch of my family tree, the commonalities are rarely subtle torrance, 1948: there are cheeks like this accompanied by hair wet with water, combed into waves and patterns. the fraction of time that is caught by flashbulb and contraction of iris betrays a frightened smile. automatic smile. shyness. my dad. and ballymena, 1901: there are cheeks like this, lower right corner of a family portrait destined for disintegration to silver and chemical and celluloid. shadows remain. ghosts atop cushioned stools. the smell of powder and fire catch on oily fingertips. there, surrounded by flecks of ancient dust, is a reserved smile. pained smile. confusion. my grandpop. huntington beach, 1982: there are cheeks like this. ones eyes are drawn to the blond hair stuck in a clump to the forehead, the effect of maple syrup and prying hands at breakfast. flushed face. batting eyelashes. a hopeful smile. a fleeting smile. a practiced smile. my sissy.) and i thought i heard him turn the corner behind me. footsteps and footsteps and the moon was big enough to talk to. it illuminated the tops of eucalyptus and mailboxes but made the darker parts darker. shadows behind brick staircases, expanses under awnings. there was a man sitting alone in a van. a woman was in the dark of the produce shop fastening a baby into a car seat. there were no newspapers left in the machines and i couldn't find my keys. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |