I<\/p>\n
How shy she became when she saw them
\noutside her kitchen window – her young,
\nmarried sister leading the minister’s wife
\nstraight up the front walk. How the two
\nof them, noticing steam over the dishpan,
\ncalled and called. How embarrassed
\nshe was when they opened the pantry door
\nat last and found her, looking up at them
\nbeside her dog, unable to still her heart.<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
The substitute, far off
\nat the pulpit, asks who
\nis new today in church,
\nthen raises his hand.
\nNobody laughs. It is his voice
\nthat dazes them, a breezy
\nlighthearted tone for a joke,
\nan earnest tone for sympathizing
\nwith their need, a helpless
\ntone for asking God
\nto assist them. Up close
\nafter the service as they shake
\nhis hand and look into
\nhis evasive eye, they see
\nthe voice is how
\nhe protects himself from them.<\/p>\n
III<\/p>\n
“A man’s property,” was what he called his three-
\nacre lot when they complained about the mess,
\nand he placed one of his junk machines next
\nto the road where he said neighbors were driving
\non his lawn. There were just ten years of cutting
\ndown trees, and dragging a rusty harrow
\nover the roots, and skinning off topsoil from the hill
\nto build up the yard, before the house went quiet
\nand the rumors started. When they saw him
\nat town meeting, pale, and skinnier than ever,
\neven his neighbors felt sorry to see the new
\nlook in his eye which said he had no anger left
\nabout being a have-not: that he never owned a thing.<\/p>\n
IV<\/p>\n
If this was all
\nthere was to winning
\nthe old farmer’s praise,
\nthe boy didn’t mind
\ntaking up the grain bag
\nby the barn post.
\nIt wasn’t heavy,
\nand the newborn kittens
\nhardly made a sound
\nas he swung it
\nand swung it, then
\nlaid it down still
\nbetween them, not knowing
\nhe would never let it go.<\/p>\n
V<\/p>\n
\u201cPink, and here in the bedroom,
\nof all places,\u201d the new owners say
\nto guests touring their house,
\n\u201cthe plumbing coming up through
\nthese beautiful wide-board floors,\u201d<\/p>\n
where now there is no trace of the toilet
\nold Frank put in beside Bernice,
\nwho was by then too sick to get up
\nfrom her bed and use the flush
\nshe\u2019d always dreamed of, and woke<\/p>\n
sometimes thinking it was a dream,
\nthis seat above a bowl of water
\nyou could release with a small, delicate
\nhandle, right indoors, and called Frank
\nto make him do it, and said it was beautiful.<\/p>\n
VI<\/p>\n
When he spoke to neighbors
\nand friends, casual in his authority,
\nthe wife mostly listened.
\n“You left out the important part,”
\nshe would say, while he
\nbrushed her aside and went on.
\n“But that time you took the car
\nto Canada, I was there with you.”<\/p>\n
When they talked about their dogs,
\nmale and female terriers, she
\nwas in charge of the conversation.
\n“Sometimes she actually
\nbites him for ignoring her.
\nYou should see him follow her
\naround then. He sleeps with his head
\ntouching hers, all night long.”<\/p>\n
VII<\/p>\n
The trouble with Hunts is
\nthat when they tell about
\nwhat somebody did
\nto somebody else you never
\nknow if the somebody did it
\nor if the other somebody
\nor somebody else
\nentirely did it
\nor should have done it
\nor would have, though what it
\nwas whoever it was did it
\nwas only something like it
\nreally was or might have been,
\nor nothing at all like it,
\nor just nothing, nothing at all.<\/p>\n
VIII<\/p>\n
It’s not so amazing that Francis
\nhas used his eighty-four-year-
\nold lungs all morning
\nto blow a saxophone<\/p>\n
with old Cunliffe on the bagpipes,
\nor that stopping his car
\nto lean out the window and talk
\nhe hardly strains the seat belt<\/p>\n
his dog ate most of,
\nor that underneath
\nits skinny band
\nhe’s wearing a Florida shirt<\/p>\n
he got out of the clothes closet
\nin his old house across the road
\nfrom the new house he moved into
\ntwelve years back; what’s amazing<\/p>\n
is his ability to tell you all
\nabout it in give or take one minute,
\nincluding three or four pauses
\nwith yups and a good-bye wave.<\/p>\n
-Wesley McNair<\/em><\/p>\n\n I How shy she became when she saw them outside her kitchen window – her young, married sister leading the minister’s wife straight up the front walk. How the two of them, noticing steam over the dishpan, called and called. How embarrassed she was when they opened the pantry door at last and found her, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2341,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7208"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2341"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7208"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7208\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7241,"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7208\/revisions\/7241"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/web.colby.edu\/csc-mcnair\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7208"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}