370
PARTISAN REVIEW
The nurse entered, bearing a tray and announcing that visiting
hours were over. Jasper kissed his grandmother, promising to come
tomorrow.
As
he left the hospital and looked at the clear sky, sparkling with
stars, he said to himself.
"The child is the mystery of this life. And the child is the mean–
ing of this life. But the child may be Sarah, Rebecca, Seymour, Nancy,
John, or myself. Or he may be my grandmother again, but it is not
very likely."
"Do you have a light?" asked a middle-aged man who was also
waiting for a taxi and holding a brand-new cigar in his mouth.
"No, I have no light," said Jasper.
INSTEAD OF FLOWERS
Cutting across the prow
of the ferry, a green tug
(Shamrock Towing Co.), from
behind which a rope almost
Dragging the water connects
to a Cherokee red barge
with a cargo, hill high, of
tin cans, the labels
(Most of them) washed off
to let the morning
sunlight glisten on their
silvery cylindrical sides
FRED
R.
MILLER
