Sign Languages (1998)
“I say, listening to the whine of the pickup’s mud tires on asphalt. Know it’s on the ridge behind me, a mile away. I turn my back to the road. Imagine that my weak vision goes far beyond the four-strand barbed-wire fence to the cows I can smell pissing. To the newest calves I hear now in this new early March grass. Up to the hills covered with some oaks but mostly pines Mothermae called “evergreens.”
“Voiture,” I say when the sound changes. Passing over the bridge where the grate opens. I almos...t piss on myself, my hand cupped in my open overalls. I feel then smell a trickle. Mothermae pulling the chocolate skin back, the head a pink like here, these phlox at my feet. Flocks of sheep, I used to think. I almost turn to look at the coming truck. Voiture I picked up right here against this post. The one I watched them replace the year we spent most of the summer outside when they brought in the hay.
“Hey, look at this. Rudy, look at all this.”
Mothermae and I listened to them from the dry creek that crosses the open fields, the biggest under a cloud of dust from their haying.MoreLess
“Voiture,” I say when the sound changes. Passing over the bridge where the grate opens. I almos...t piss on myself, my hand cupped in my open overalls. I feel then smell a trickle. Mothermae pulling the chocolate skin back, the head a pink like here, these phlox at my feet. Flocks of sheep, I used to think. I almost turn to look at the coming truck. Voiture I picked up right here against this post. The one I watched them replace the year we spent most of the summer outside when they brought in the hay.
“Hey, look at this. Rudy, look at all this.”
Mothermae and I listened to them from the dry creek that crosses the open fields, the biggest under a cloud of dust from their haying.MoreLess
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