I notice all the dust gathered up behind the closed door, dust I didn't see in daylight when the door was opened and I walked quickly in and out of rooms: a tuft of cat hair caught. A stray pile of ashes plopped down. Sometimes a forgotten pair of socks, sometimes only one; and I think before I go to sleep, "I'll clean that up tomorrow." In the morning after I've opened the door, I forget about it; the dirt and dust have disappeared.
At night I have dreams that I mistake for reality. I woke this morning thinking David's son had come into the room and whispered, "Dad?" I lie in bed grading papers until I fall asleep -- light on. At night when I don't sleep I stare out the window, holding the cat. I feel distinctly like somebody else. And I don't mind.
At night when everyone's asleep I go downstairs in the dark to drink some diet Coke. I don't turn on the lights. I walk with myhands on the walls, feet tapping the carpet for stairs. I do this not because I am thirsty, but because I like standing alone in the dark kitchen, then opening the refrigerator, watching all that light tumble out of a closed up box.
It still amazes me.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Distilled Prose,
This review is from: Voice Forms (Paperback)
Every page is a new and independantly interesting story and perspective on the world. At the same time, there is a unifying theme of practical reality and inescapable human experience. It is hard to believe that so much could come out of one person. Normandi Ellis must have suffered labour pains giving birth to this great work of art.
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