Summer 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2000 |


I wake up thinking I have to change my gynecologist for no better reason than those baby photos he plasters all over his examination room like publicity shots of Sinatra and Kojak at local restaurants. My mind is racing, so I sit and meditate, only to think about makeup and dust. It's a supernatural 85-degree mid-October morning, the kind of weather that pushes lazy habits and Sunday papersaside to get outdoors. Searching for sunglasses again, I remember leaving them inside my jacket where they aren't, then recall I took off that jacket yesterday because already it was heating up. I reason, if I backtrack I'll discover where they dropped. I'm as energetic as an evil queen. Run two miles to the pear tree I gathered fruit from. No glasses, but more pears I bundle in the blouse I take off, then cut through woods in my bra. Back on my road, I keep eyes peeled and spot the mangled pair, one leg this way, one that, like a misremembered nursery rhyme or evidence at the scene of a crime. My

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece

Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More


Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.


With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.