Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Shotgun in Kentucky
“My grandfather handed me three shells and the shotgun
and said, Go get dinner.”
My friend leaned forward telling me the story of himself
as a young boy, eight, nine or ten years old
walking out into the autumn corn fields, looking
at the sunshine, feeling the slight breeze, hearing
something and seeing a jack rabbit, thinking about
how his ears are so large. Pointing the gun without
looking and the sound it made, and
“I looked down at it,” he said, voice on the edge,
“and I’d blown it apart.”
His voice crumbles into a dark place of sweetness,
sadness a gully below. He digs a hole and buries it,
telling his grandfather when he gets home,
“I missed.”
For Jimmy, who I don’t think shot another living thing,
though he did almost kill a man he caught raping a girl
in a city park, but that was a long time ago.
October 20, 2009
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The post office has been a soothing ritual since I moved here six years ago. I never go if I'm in a rush. I start with the death notices posted by the funeral home, and end with the bulletin board. Taking time in between to recycle my envelopes, junk mail, and clean and tidy the tables. Even though I'm quite shy, I love talking to the old folks I run into, who don't ever remember we spoke before. I can't think of anywhere where fluorescent lighting brings on feelings of that sort of nostalgia and comfort. Except maybe an old laundromat... How amazing that others can see the loveliness in something so simple and pedestrian. Thank you for making it even more meaningful. While the obituaries and pleas for help finding lost pets (some of which I was sure I'd seen dead by the road - because I always look), renting out hopelessly dated homes, selling farm equipment, stay at home mom businesses have always given me goosebumps, a lump in my throat or a sad smile, now I know someone's out there trying to put words to how lovely it all is. Thank you...
ReplyDeleteThank you for your beautiful comment. I would like to put it into a direct post if you give me permission. I love to hear how others experience the post office and hopefully we can keep alive an almost timeless tradition in passing notes in all the ways we can.
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