Trying On: The American Education


Cut Me Up That Mountain, Mama; Denials

START again. Slant rain and damp cedars. Fields out of that Cleveland Museum painting of the brewing sky in autumn sometime–gold against the gray, not in spite of it, but with it. I’ve done the leave-taking again; I’ve done the silencing up. And along all of those roads littered with so many horses that perhaps would have traded or healed or fetched a silver dollar at the fair, I’ve held tongue. Now’s the season of towns, I suppose. I’m going to start talking into the little telephone