From 02b5542e5a66aed417818f06ea7b75df6b07adc4 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Rye Progress Date: Fri, 31 May 2024 23:28:23 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] Ch 5 work --- content/draft/005.md | 50 +++++++++++++++++++++++--------------------- 1 file changed, 26 insertions(+), 24 deletions(-) diff --git a/content/draft/005.md b/content/draft/005.md index 76aec73..c5baf58 100644 --- a/content/draft/005.md +++ b/content/draft/005.md @@ -78,30 +78,32 @@ She smiled — another blessing! — and nodded to me. "We sat in the solarium and spoke about what reading *is.* She spoke of taking a story or a poem and wrapping oneself up in it. She gave me an example. She recited a poem: -> Too many suits move in too many lines. -> They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed, -> hunting crudites, canapés, bruscheta. -> Fingers ferry food — fish, perhaps — finding -> slack-jawed mouths already open, -> squawking at wayward children -> or bemoaning The Market, -> whatever that may be. -> At some point, who cares how long ago, -> death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again. -> Who knows how well they knew him, -> their backs turned, studiously -> deciding that he is no longer of them? -> One could never guess. -> We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps, -> that the room is tastefully furnished, -> the coffin silver, the bar, open, -> quite good, and none of them are drunk yet, -> or at least none look it. -> "Good man, good man," they mutter, -> doing all they can to convince each other -> through well-rehearsed performances, -> that this must be the case. -> The silently bereaved already sit graveside." +{{% verse %}} +Too many suits move in too many lines. +They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed, +hunting crudites, canapés, bruscheta. +Fingers ferry food — fish, perhaps — finding +slack-jawed mouths already open, +squawking at wayward children +or bemoaning The Market, +whatever that may be. +At some point, who cares how long ago, +death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again. +Who knows how well they knew him, +their backs turned, studiously +deciding that he is no longer of them? +One could never guess. +We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps, +that the room is tastefully furnished, +the coffin silver, the bar, open, +quite good, and none of them are drunk yet, +or at least none look it. +"Good man, good man," they mutter, +doing all they can to convince each other +through well-rehearsed performances, +that this must be the case. +The silently bereaved already sit graveside." +{{% /verse %}} I turned those words over and over in my head for a minute, since The Woman had seemed quite comfortable sitting in silence with me. She used that time to drink her water while I played back the words again and again, looking down at my paws, and then returned my gaze to hers. "There is a difference between the performance of grief and grieving, is there not?"