Manumit

manumit\man-yuh-MIT\, verb;

To free from slavery or servitude.

There once was a boy who lived at home and although all the doors and windows were open, he couldn't leave. Instead he would wander the rooms, keeping everything in place. And there were a lot of things to keep. Stacks and piles of things, all of which he would try to keep in neat, little towers. He had to do this because often there was a wind. A wind that would rush through the windows and doors and if the boy was not careful, the wind would knock everything down.


The boy had parents but it was almost as if they were not there. The mother would continually walk in and out of the doors, bringing in more and more stuff, placing it on the floor, before going out again to bring in more. It did not matter what it was. Whatever was outdoors she brought inside and the boy would pick up the things that she put down and place them in a pile which he found appropriate. In this way, they were in constant motion. She bringing in and he putting away.


Now the father - the father did something different. From time to time when the boy's stacks would get rather high, and the wind would blow, some of the items would slip and slide and fall from the top to the bottom and clatter to the floor. And if the boy was not quick enough to pick this thing up and place it neatly back upon the pile, the father, hearing the noise, would get up from his chair, upon which he always sat, pick up the item and, without emotion, throw it out one of the many open windows. Upon watching it fly out of the house, the father would then laugh loudly for just a moment before turning and returning to his chair which waited for him.

The boy did not always see this when it happened, but if he did, he would slouch and shake his head and sometimes even a tear would escape his eye, but he would not blink. And then his mother would come through the door and place another item on the floor at his feet, prompting him to resume.

Zephyr

zephyr\ZEF-er\ , noun;

A gentle, mild breeze.

Earlier, I swept

the boards of my apartment floor

and the pieces of dust and hair

would cling to the fibers of the broom

and float into the air

 

I watched them fall

and wondered where they would settle

if they would settle at all

Later, I laid

On sheets dusted with fine fibers,

looking at them and sighing, I began

plucking them between my fingertips

and blowing them away

They would flutter back

onto the fabric and stick there

while I looked at myself in the mirror

As a strand of hair fell to the floor.

Gambol

gambol \GAM-buhl\, intransitive verb:
1. To dance and skip about in play; to frolic

If the horses could do it, why couldn't she? The day was cold and called for dancing.
The field open and littered with buttercups, yellow cups lifted up on thin stems; she tries to leap between them, but like dodging raindrops, this is impossible. She crushes them and they spring up again, only not as tall as before. She worries for them amidst her pirouettes. Would, or could, anything bad happen to her for stepping on such delicate and helpless things, so crisp and golden.
Before her mother can call her in from the afternoon, she quickly drops, falls among the blades of grasses, high enough to hide her, tall enough to tickle the blue of the sky, dapple the sun. The heads of the yellow flowers bend and reflect, highlight citrus spots on her skin. She closes her eyes and breathes in the onion grass. She searches with her fingers for the wide, striated blades of it. With a fist she wiggles and pulls and frees one of the fragrant bulbs and lifts it to her nose. A dusting of dirt falls on her face and lips. She scrunches up her nose and it falls away; she breathes in the sharp, earthy smell of the wild onion. Putting the grass into her mouth, she feels the groves of the blade with her tongue and then bites, snapping it in half with her teeth.
Her name is called. She hears the whap of a screen door closing. Through the vibrations of the grass, she can feel the approach of Snooks, the dog, before she can hear him. And then he is there, running over her and sniffing. He thinks this is a game. The girl is hiding and he has found her. In its excitement, the dog steps low on her stomach, forcing her to sit up and gasp for air.
"There you are," she hears her mother call.
"Here I am," she whispers.

Threnody

threnody \THREN-uh-dee\ , noun:
A poem, speech, or song of lamentation, esp. for the dead; dirge; funeral song.

Much can kill a man.
I knew one once
that hummed.

Popinjay

popinjay\POP-in-jay\ , noun;

A vain and talkative person.

They just sit on porches and talk to themselves. Old men that never had anything to say to anyone before now rail against the fences lining their property defining the edges. Pop McGuintrey and Jay Cunningham, neighbors for fifty-odd years had never said more than a few words to each other. Their wives and families took over the day-to-day requirements of communication - if there were any - and really there hadn't ever been. The wives exchanged cups of sugar or flour or milk. The children called to each other and clambered between the houses. And unconsciously they all stayed away from the two men. The ones that worked hard during the day were generally left alone to recover in the evenings.
As widowers, though, there was nothing but time for talk and "Remember the time" became the favorite phrase. Each one surprising the other over how much they actually saw and just how much of what they saw actually affected them. Story after story they recounted their lives to each other, sometimes interrupting and talking over one another, sometimes not realizing they were telling the same story. Their wives became "the wife;" their sons and daughters became "the kids" for they were talking as much to only themselves as much as they were talking to one another.
And in the evening when their throats were hoarse and the stories had been worn down for the day, they would stay sitting out there, on the porches, sending the creaks of their rocking chairs echoing into the darkness.

Cozen

cozen\KUZ-un\ , transitive verb:
1. To cheat; to defraud; to deceive, usually by petty tricks.

2. To obtain by deceit.

There they were again, and the cat snuck somehow into the gaps between their legs. Her small bed left little room for space apart. The heat could only build; their skin could only stick together. There were attempts to spread out but the cat prohibited such movement. She did not like to disturb it when it chose to curl up beside her, usually at her feet, making it difficult to move. Even if it created some awkward positions, for her, that was love.
Against the heat, the most they could do was push the comforter back and flip their pillows over. The radiators had kicked on at some time during the night and she imagined she could see the shimmering coils of heat rising along the walls in the darkness. Already too warm from the early Spring weather outside, the apartment would soon be a sauna.
She heard him moan next to her. Although asleep, she was certain he could feel the rise in temperature. She hoped it would not wake him. She valued her time alone during these visits, letting her thoughts roam, feeling the deep breaths of the cat against her calf, the beating of her heart, the throbbing of her head, and now the gathering sweat on top of what had dried from before.
Feeling dirty but not any regret, she thought of how she would get up in the morning at the sound of her alarm and go to the bathroom, brush her teeth and take a shower, and how when she opened the door and the steam raced out, he would already be gone. Making an effort at a kind gesture, he would have made the bed, and the next time she saw him - if she saw him - she would remember this and thank him, thinking how this proved the deep-down goodness of his person and it would be possible that something so simple could lead them there again.

Quixotic

quixotic \kwik-SOT-ik\ , adjective; Caught up in the romance of noble deeds and the pursuit of unreachable goals; foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals.

A Brooklyn apartment with laundry room, dishwasher, and a clean tub that never needs Drano, all included. Office snow days and coffee for a dollar with free refills; a bar where every other drink is on the house. Mangoes that don't over-ripen; an oven that works; knives that cut without sawing. Spending time with the ones that will soon leave, before they do. Realizing when a moment is important before it passes and making that moment last, making it count in its singular beauty. Having good things coincide like new romance when the roads are closed and the cupboards are full and snow is falling outside. Like driving cross country, stopping at every diner along the way and taking a coffee mug from each - just to remember it all by. Sailing the Mediterranean. Sleeping outside under blankets and the stars. Opening a cafe. Looking around and thinking you couldn't have done it any better.