ELECTRIC LIGHT
2010; Wiley; Volume: 98; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/tyr.2010.0089
ISSN1467-9736
Autores Resumo6 8 Y E L E C T R I C L I G H T C Y N T H I A Z A R I N The dragonfly whirs and whirs and will not stop replaying its ceaseless hum over the tightly pulled rungs of wire at the topmost end of the scale. Fire runs along the wires as if someone had wrapped the sound in rags and lit a match. St. George in his emerald livery, his tiny jeweled sword drawn, has no time for this domestic crisis, more darning needle than dragon, who with ragged black stitches tries to sew up the seam while busily sawing the air with its tarnished wings but the tear is there. Through it I see the blue scribbled-on sky over the sea where a quiver of dragonflies draws frantic lines over the high weed-choked rocky dunes. It wasn’t this summer, I don’t think so – but the summer before last. Hot, glassine – no one knew why they had come nor why were there so many of them – obviously speaking to each other in a language made up of static fueled by the sun, the sound of steel wool on a washboard, filling the space between earth and air by writing over and over it, as my hand does here – if only one could swallow the sword and be done with it – leaving no place, under the din of the white-hot filament of the reading light, free of your name. ...
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