LOOKING
I've been walking around the house for a while, holding
on to the classy Costco walker Marina got for me, looking
for my walker. Now having found it right in my hands, I'm
looking for my mind; I wonder where it is. Probably
in my cunt where it mostly resides making snap
judgments I follow devoutly. Any
minute now I am going to get dressed so that
if anyone goes anywhere they can take me
to the store, to more than one store I hope;
I want to buy origami paper and all manner of
wonderful edibles - chips, hummus, kefir
cheese and pears and other cheese, oh
I am going to eat. Eat. Eat. It's
hard to remember when only a
few days ago I had no
appetite. How did you
lose so much weight, Dona wanted to know, and I
felt so sorry to have to tell her the secret: I lost my
appetite. But for her I have recommended that she
take up the clarinet, the clarinet, the
clarinet goes doodle doodle doodle det,
yes and if she wants I will take it up too; I
haven't tried to play a musical
instrument since, hm, well, not for
many lifetimes but I might do it now not that I
would be able to play well but that I might
get a sound I would enjoy from it; I
don't want to try to play trumpet, that
was my sister's thing; I'd like
to play something that uses what
wind I may have left and
makes it
stronger. Meanwhile, though,
I do like to whistle. While I
work and while I don't do
anything. And remember my
grandfather reminding me
that whistling girls and
crowing hens were said to be condemned to
bad ends. I have not met my bad end yet but
I've sure had a lot of fun
whistling, especially since I knew that
Grandpa though saying that really
loved to hear
my whistling. When he said it he was
quoting his own grandparents too which made it
a long connection - somehow the beauty of
girls going right on whistling despite the
dire predictions made it all
almost sacred. I wonder
if Sappho whistled. She never
says so but I'll bet she
did. I saw a bust of her once in the old
Getty, a bust by a contemporary, and she
did look like a
whistler.
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