PARTISAN REVIEW
427
He
is
not speaking of the silence of a
house or of the sky at night . . . he is
not speaking of the terror of empty
spaces, parking lots, deserts, city
li–
braries at closing time . . . the look of
a knife in a kitchen drawer ... flour
that won't come out of a plaid
skirt...•
No, he
is
speaking of a furniture sale,
a March sale ... half-priced sofas, love
seats, chairs, lamps, dinettes. . . . He
knows exactly what he
is
saying, the
words say themselves and are finished,
nothing to worry about. I love
this
man
but lam afraid of
him.
Inside myself
I am sweating with fear, but outside
myself I am a pretty young woman,
always on time. A high school teacher
told me, a spinster who gave advice to
girls,
Your talent can be to
always
be
dependable.
That
is
my talent.
1958
The ambulance arrives. She
is
carried
out on a stretcher, not dead. So much
blood! The bathroom door
is
closed.
I mold my face out of my hands,
still
seeing her. Why did she do it? Why not
my aunt, why not the woman next
door? Why not my friend Sharon's
mother? I am sick with hating, hating,
hating. My aunt Thelma moves in now
and I hate her, I want to go down
be–
hind the furnace and lie on the
dirty
floor, press myself against the floor,
try
to get through it. My mother used to
lie on the floor, trying to get through.
. . . She has a face someone
has
clawed
atl her hair
is
wild) streued with blood,
