katiecloved

Comments by katiecloved

• KatieCloved commented on the list dogs-lives

  Then I threw.

  I struck the male in the flank. He lurched away from Tammi and rushed blindly to a fenced-in corner of the yard. I continued to throw, missing every time. The male saw his mistake and came charging out of the cul-de-sac toward me. His feet churned in the gravel as he skidded by me. Then he loped like a jungle cat out our open gate and was gone. I threw eight or nine futile stones into the dark street after him. And stood there barechested in the chill December rain.

  For a week this went on. New dogs appeared on some nights, familiar ones returnedon others. And each time, like a knight fighting for his lady's chastity, I struggled out of bed to fling stones at Tammi's bestial wooers.

  July 6, 2010

• KatieCloved commented on the list the-skater

  In California, they live in a canyon. Martha's room is there, facing the canyon. It is not situated with a glimpse of the ocean like some of the other rooms. It faces a rocky ledge where owls nest. The canyon is full of small birds and bitter-smelling shrubs. There are larger animals too who come down in the night and drink from the pans of water the family puts out. Each evening they put out large white pans of clear water and in the morning the pans are muddy and empty. The canyon is cold. The sun moves quickly through it. When the rocks are touched by the sun, they steam. All of Martha's things remain in her room--the radio, the posters and mirrors and books. It is a "guest" room now, although no one ever refers to it in that way. They refer to it as "Martha's room." But it has become a guest room, even though there are never any guests.

  July 6, 2010

• KatieCloved commented on the list emperor-of-the-air

  When he had gone back into his house I went out to the elm and studied the insects, which emerged from a spot in the grass and disappeared above my sight, in the lowest branches. Their line was dense and unbroken. I went inside and found yesterday's newspaper, which I rolled up and brought back out. With it I slapped up and down the trunk until the line was in chaos. I slapped until the newspaper was wet and tearing; with my fingernails i squashed stragglers between the narrow crags of bark. I stamped the sod where they emerged, dug my shoe tip into their underground tunnels. When my breathing became painful, I stopped and sat on the ground. I closed my eyes until the pulse in my neck was calm, and I sat there, mildly triumphant, master at last. After a while I looked up again at the tree and found the line perfectly restored.

  July 6, 2010