TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations & other curiosities :: profile
Sunday, 29 June 2008
The cognac was finished, the ice now shards, she made Dad quit smoking that year, and she runs with dirty feet from Father�s place at the head of the long white table set for twenty-five, after the tape of their youth was done, Auntie said Flip it over. She was the joker in ESL; her girls loved her, wanted to sit next to their auntie, and the newlyweds started dancing, the grandmothers playing cards in the corner, while the chef said, You are such a good worker, my daughter! Ma cried for her babies, two hours north off the I-405 on good days; they know only English! The young women couldn�t imagine as they fried plantains and scooped vanilla ice cream into bowls broken years later, into pieces that pierced the softening white song; those spoons opaque in the slow stubborn slide into night.
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