Throwback Thursday: “A Boy Cupping a Cricket Turns to Us and Says” by Robert Ostrom

Issue 50, 2012

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“A Boy Cupping a Cricket Turns to Us and Says” by Robert Ostrom

A sled with too many reins

to go anywhere. My father who is not

 

my father sews my hands together. Around

 

a table where the people resemble, dazzled

like horses staring at each other. We ate

 

mixed berries with sugar. The bower bloomed

 

under which it was always cold in my hair.

There was an Easter morning. Every question

 

was the same question. Until the house

 

began to speak. Then, the skin of your face

in a box of old faces. Where you made

 

mouths in the grass, you made mirrors

 

of me. Suffering impersonating suffering,

the evening routine of little brown bats.

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