By Galway Kinnell
That Silent Evening
I will return to that silent night once we lay jointly and talked in silent voices, whereas outdoor gradual lumps of soppy snow fell, hushing as they obtained close to the floor, with a hearth within the room, during which centuries of tree went up in non-stop ghost-giving-up, with no crackle, into morning light.
Not till what hurries up went slower did we sleep.
When we received domestic we grew to become and appeared again at our tracks twining out of the woods, the place the branches we brushed opposed to permit fall puffs of glowing snow, quick, in silence, like stolen kisses, and the place the scritch scritch scritch one of the timber, that is the sound that dies contained in the sparks from the wedge whilst the sledge hits it off heart telling every thing within it really is hearth, jumped to a black department, overvalued yet with no hands and so that you can our eyes lonesome, and but also--how will we comprehend this?--happy!
in form of chickadee. mendacity nonetheless in snow, no longer iron-willed, like railroad tracks, prepared to not meet till heaven, yet right here and there treading slubby kissing stops, our tracks wobble around the snow their lengthy scratch.
So many stuff that take place listed here are relatively little extra, if even that, than a scratch, too. phrases, in our mouths, are virtually prepared, already, to bandage the single whom the scritch scritch scritch, which means if how after we may lose one another, scratches scratches scratches from this second to that. Then i'm going to return to that silent night, while the prior simply controlled to overlap the long run, if merely by means of a hint, and the sunshine doubles and casts throughout the darkish a glowing that heavens the earth.
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But so far as Jack was concerned, I reckon I was like a horse. He picked me. That's how I became Lucky Johnson. ' And I suppose that settled it. I said, 'You know Valetta Street? ' He said, 'You know Dodds' butcher shop in Spring Road? ' I never said I didn't have no ma. I reckon that would have made him reassess my luckiness. He said, 'Best bangers in Bermondsey. ' He said it was because I was lucky that he ought to stick with me, but it was the other way round. It was Jack who underwrote me. It wasn't that I was small so the bullets would miss me, it was that he was big, like a wall, like a boulder.
Sometimes I'd think, It aint a fair world, when you think of Amy. She said, 'So what's the betting, Lucky Johnson? ' She takes another gulp of coffee and there's still that pucker in her forehead, and I think, If she hasn't got one in the oven then what's the problem and why's she having so much trouble finding words? Then it's as though I kick myself inside, a big kick, so I almost give a jolt right there on the bed, because I see what's coming, plain as day, and I should have seen it coming long before, more fool me, and I think she sees that I see it, because it's then that she starts in, as if I've given her the all-clear.
Poor berk. Snag is that with Vince back home there aint no spare bed. But that's no problem, Vincey says, he'll see if he can't kip down in Ray's camper. It's only for one night and he's used to living in a bivvy, even if it is the middle of November. And he'll be nearer to his precious cars. But one night turns into the best part of a week, she's begging them not to let on about her and they haven't got the heart to turf her out, and I reckon it was only when they were getting used to her being a sort of permanent lodger that Jack got it into his head that he could use her somehow as a bribe for Vince.