Dublin
Under shifting high ceilings we can't afford, morning snow from our hair dampens the matted pillows. We've stumbled to this inn after breakfast in a barely-open café, where pipe-smokers eyed my red jeans and your American-boy parka, glowing in the frozen window. My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers. Smoothing a map over the booth-seat, you traced our trail through this city of bundled strangers while I pressed my thumb into the fluff of split vinyl and wondered if we'd want each other back home, in the exhale of patience. Familiar hands and full voices forget how we fit in a room of pale rain-light, burrowing a thin nest of layers, adding our own quiet tones to the street laced with whispers.
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Author's Note
Published in 3711 Atlantic a long time ago
Other stories by Elizabeth Hegwood
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I like it. The language is high and winding (which I always like). The last bit I think might benefit from more concrete and less abstract, though, as the ending, even in pieces that are highly lyrical, tend to land back on the concrete, at least in terms of language.
I think that's spot-on, Sheldon. Thanks for reading & for the insight.
Wow. Prose poem. The swooping waitress with the flower forks is fantastic...well, I liked it all. Interesting problem at the end. Do you ground this further, or keep it as is? The narrator is balancing her attraction to the guy against the the allure of this cold rain city motel bed moment--they're both dissolving at the end into a context. What reality can compete with that?
Gosh, I'm speechless. Thank you very much, James.
Personally, the ending does it for me as is. I'm with James--moments like these, lyrical memories, are images that can survive in a vacuum. To me, they need no grounding.
Elizabeth, a Dublin girl myself, this title caught my attention and your poetic language kept me here. Lovely piece, congratulations. I loved all of it, with the exception, if I may of the following:
"slush"
"exhale of touristy patience" I loved "exhale" here but didn't understand it "touristy patience?"
"Familiar hands and full voices forget how?"
I'd suggest taking another look at these and going for the more specific? The ending, for me, is just right.
Thanks for the read, and drumming-up of memories.
Thanks, Ben and Ethel, for the insight and, of course, for reading. It is so appreciated. This is why I love this website.
right here was when i read on: --where pipe-smokers eyed my red jeans and your American-boy parka-- loving how the narrator addressed him...
and agreesing with ethel on the slush & touristy patience, as not quite right-sounding?
lovely, lovely
The slush is dirty snow. Maybe I should just say "snow."
...?
I'm liking 'snow.' The only other word I see that might be improved on is "glowing"?
Elizabeth, I really enjoyed the details of place and weather and time, and the poetic last line. Excellent!
Elizabeth, it's good to see you again! My heart quickened at the forks, and then again with the split vinyl. It's all lovely. I wonder if the last sentence can be jiggled to end on pale rain-light. Don't mean to confuse.
Clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers. This is tremendous. I still think you could have taken it a little further.Or end it at the exhale of patience. Much to love here.
Richard, thank you.
Really interesting suggestions, Pia & D.P. Thank you for thinking of them. I'd looked at it too long, too long.
"My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers." Wow! Such a gloriously poetic image and the pace of the language--it sings me along!
A primer on how to use adjectives effectively. Lovely in its meticulousness.
Wow, thanks, Bill.