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The Lost Year, and: Zeno

The Lost Year, and: Zeno 67 of patterned lace, fragile, impractical-- but lasting. So--though she had come to herself in the familiar, dark wood of it--she had learned that every time she answered or refused its voicing over her shoulder, the name was not all she had to share but also its early vanishing, and that when she did appear, she was near revenant and at once perishing, impossible disappointment, and she could not know whom to rage against, the one who called, the one who would not come. Bruce Bond The Lost Year After the storm, when the wind pulled down all that was high and dying from the trees, when the north blew out the candle of our home, our roof chipped, gutters flooded, it seemed so unlikely, the calm that followed, the strength of blue, the kind of quiet a room possesses after a banquet. Clouds passed like ships on fire. And I thought of the lost year, the one of the gaping summer, the tentative one that opened up your body like a question. Tell me, if you can. What has the flesh taught you 68 in its difficult season. There are days, no doubt, that turn away the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

The Lost Year, and: Zeno

Prairie Schooner , Volume 84 (3) – Oct 20, 2010

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © University of Nebraska Press
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
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Abstract

67 of patterned lace, fragile, impractical-- but lasting. So--though she had come to herself in the familiar, dark wood of it--she had learned that every time she answered or refused its voicing over her shoulder, the name was not all she had to share but also its early vanishing, and that when she did appear, she was near revenant and at once perishing, impossible disappointment, and she could not know whom to rage against, the one who called, the one who would not come. Bruce Bond The Lost Year After the storm, when the wind pulled down all that was high and dying from the trees, when the north blew out the candle of our home, our roof chipped, gutters flooded, it seemed so unlikely, the calm that followed, the strength of blue, the kind of quiet a room possesses after a banquet. Clouds passed like ships on fire. And I thought of the lost year, the one of the gaping summer, the tentative one that opened up your body like a question. Tell me, if you can. What has the flesh taught you 68 in its difficult season. There are days, no doubt, that turn away the

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Oct 20, 2010

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