The Trike Returns:
Knot
Joanna Hooste
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Crow's Feet
Sue and James walked through gnarled forests, counting the knots on trees. They sought these injuries and made up stories of their origin. The tight-lipped wind listened intently and offered them no respite from the sepia-toned heat brazing their bodies. Brazenly, they talked without handling objects or looking away. Intimacy perpetuated itself in and out of darkness and light. They pushed each other to the brink and peered and veered and pulled each other back. They stood on the thin ledge of the roof of their building and let gusts of wind push them forward and let the raven's caw insert balance. Ciphers melded in their minds. Abstractions dropped. Palates were satisfied. They moved in synch but both were awkward. They knew what a moment was. In the moment of a memory, discord and dissidence paraded through their eyes, marched in complete disarray, and dismissed the scent of deceit. The collective countenance of greed, grief, sorrow, and avarice imposes crows feet on the face of children. Laugh lines are replaced with slack jaws and tight lipped cynicism. Sue and James' faces appeared smooth and unburdened. But they knew too much about the knots.
~Joanna Hooste
Joanna writes: I am a senior at Utah State University, majoring in American Studies. I have been previously published in Out of the Blue. Email.
© 2002 by Joanna Hooste. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.