Prism International 51:4 Summer 2013

This is the annual Prizewinners issue.  Self is reading the winning story, “Remainders,” by Shana Myara, which begins:

It was three a.m. when the missile fell into our backyard.  If it hadn’t been so hot I might have missed its long, clear whistle and dead thud against the lawn.

That summer, sleep was a game of trickery —  reinterpreting the warm air, coaxing stiff muscles to give against the heat.  The flannel sheets I’d bought from Canada took up space in the closet and both of us, Ben and I, sweated onto a thin bed cover.  I ran my arm under the cool side of the pillow.  Breathed in.  Breathed out.

Beside me, Ben lay heavy in sleep.  A child of this weather, he dreamed in Hebrew and his lips twitched to words I didn’t yet know.  We were a mismatched pair, but love was love, and we could say it in both languages.

It has just occurred to self that the covers of Prism International are very whimsical.  Judge for yourselves, dear blog readers.

Cover:  Prism International, 51:4/ Summer 2013

Cover: Prism International, 51:4/ Summer 2013

Cover:  Prism International 51:3/ Spring 2012

Cover: Prism International 51:3/ Spring 2012

Stay tuned.

Today, While Waiting For Son To Get Off Work

Today self had the car.  She and son have been trading off.  He usually bikes to his summer job in Menlo Park, but today he had to make pasta for an office potluck.  Self must say:  she was very impressed at how efficiently he made the dish: using fresh basil and pine-nuts and two boxes of rotini!

Self went to the city to meet Joel T and his friend from New York for lunch at the Yerba Buena Center.  It was a gorgeous day in San Francisco.  It almost made up for the confusion of construction.  She also found out from Joel that the SFMOMA was closed and would remain closed for the next three years.  Say whaaaat?

Afterwards, while waiting in the parking lot of son’s office (He had a meeting), she perused a back issue of New Letters (Vol. 79 No. 1).  In it were poems by Carolyn Wright (“Neck Broken, Resourceful Cyclist Walks to Emergency Room”) and Albert Goldbarth.  Below, an excerpt from the Goldbarth poem, “Some Etymology”:

The original definition of doom was
— neutrality — “one’s destiny.” What dark faith
in our futures do we have, that now
it’s “catastrophic death”; or that the neutral fate
extends itself into fatal?

And in order not to leave dear blog reader with such gloomy thoughts, here are pictures she took today of her blooming clematis “Nelly Moser”:

Currently blooming in the backyard:  clematis "Nelly Moser"

Currently blooming in the backyard: clematis “Nelly Moser”

Here's what's left when the flower petals have fallen off.

Here’s what’s left when the flower petals have fallen off.

The flower from a little farther away

The flower from a little farther away

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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