Dining With DeLilloA Poem by Ken e Bujolda found poem from reading of DiLillo's Zero K"He had a long face and large hands, head narrowing toward the top, hair cropped to the skull, sparse grey stubble. I took another bite and tried the taste with a name? Carrots and onions, mutton and rice, old and wrinkled. Here the food did not look up when I entered the meal. The plate glass utensils positioned diagonally across the table were pajama sleeves, gold embellishments.
There was something I hadn't until now, realized-- men are supposed to die first. There are things in a marriage it's tough figuring out-- four walls, the mindless hours, time zones exaggerated breaths. We sleep in the same bed, she and I, enjoy a share of the blame maybe figuring out an element of regret, reminiscence over a disagreement-- that's all. Nothing more.
It's only natural, the parentheses we've endured, the cracked clay line of infinities. What the equation meant to signify was evidence of the ostensible convergence of two distinct forces approaching a point of intersection. Stalled plans soon to be beyond the limits of harsh geography. The merger of the limits of believability, an end and a beginning--when I would ask her name, create one
for her--to go home. Ken e Bujold 2022
(found in pg. 39 100-01 254-55 of Don DeLillo's Zero K) © 2022 Ken e BujoldAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on September 27, 2022 Last Updated on September 30, 2022 AuthorKen e BujoldSomewhere in Ontario, CanadaAboutWriters write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..Writing
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