MOOD INDIGO
From the porch; from the hayrick where her prickled
brothers hid and chortled and slurped into their young pink
lungs the ash-blond dusty air that lay above the bales
loam of the harrowed fields and from the very sky;
it came from everywhere. Which is to say it was
always there, and that it came from nowhere.
It became her dead pet, her lost love, the baby sister
blue and dead at birth, the chill headwaters of the river
(1970) William Matthews
From the porch; from the hayrick where her prickled
brothers hid and chortled and slurped into their young pink
lungs the ash-blond dusty air that lay above the bales
like low clouds; and from the squeak and suck
of the well-pump and from the glove of rust it implied
on her hand; from the dress parade of clothes
of the well-pump and from the glove of rust it implied
on her hand; from the dress parade of clothes
in her mothproofed closet; from her tiny Philco
with its cracked speaker and Sunday litany
(Nick Carter, The Shadow, The Green Hornet, Sky King);
with its cracked speaker and Sunday litany
(Nick Carter, The Shadow, The Green Hornet, Sky King);
from the loosening bud of her body; from hunger,
as they say, and from reading; from the finger
she used to dial her own number; from the dark
as they say, and from reading; from the finger
she used to dial her own number; from the dark
loam of the harrowed fields and from the very sky;
it came from everywhere. Which is to say it was
always there, and that it came from nowhere.
It evaporated with the dew, and at dusk when dark
spread in the sky like water in a blotter, it spread, too,
but it came back and curdled with milk and stung
spread in the sky like water in a blotter, it spread, too,
but it came back and curdled with milk and stung
with nettles. It was in the bleat of the lamb, the way
a clapper is in a bell, and in the raucous, scratchy
gossip of the crows. It walked with her to school and lay
with her to sleep and at last she was pleased.
If she were to sew, she would prick her finger with it.
If she were to bake, it would linger in the kitchen
like an odor snarled in the deepest folds of childhood.a clapper is in a bell, and in the raucous, scratchy
gossip of the crows. It walked with her to school and lay
with her to sleep and at last she was pleased.
If she were to sew, she would prick her finger with it.
If she were to bake, it would linger in the kitchen
It became her dead pet, her lost love, the baby sister
blue and dead at birth, the chill headwaters of the river
that purled and meandered and ran and ran until
it issued into her, as into a sea, and then she was its
and it was wholly hers. She kept to her room, as we
it issued into her, as into a sea, and then she was its
and it was wholly hers. She kept to her room, as we
learned to say, but now and then she'd come down
and pass through the kitchen, and the screen door
would close behind her with no more sound than
an envelope being sealed, and she'd walk for hours
in the fields like a lithe blue rain, and end up
in the barn, and one of us would go and bring her in.
and pass through the kitchen, and the screen door
would close behind her with no more sound than
an envelope being sealed, and she'd walk for hours
in the fields like a lithe blue rain, and end up
in the barn, and one of us would go and bring her in.
(1970) William Matthews
American illustrator, painter, and printmaker Campbell Grant was born in 1909. After grad- uation from Oakland High School, he entered the California College of Arts and Crafts. In 1930 he received a scholarship to attend the Santa Barbara School of the Arts where he learned the techniques of color woodcut from Frank Morley Fletcher.
Following his studies at Santa Barbara, he spent twelve years in Hollywood at Walt Disney Studios as a story director and animator. Campbell exhibited with the Painters and Sculptors of Los Angeles in 1934 and the Public Works of Art Project that same year. 1 Allen W. Seaby was also a student of Frank Morley Fletcher.
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