Last week a mathematician said green glow, aquamarine— and I suppose rare parrots or the searing rise of rice, aurora as it reels around the poles.
This week the man says oops, a miscalculation: the universe is amber— peach hair, cantaloupe, a squeal, the yellow cart of dawn pulled into day.
Show me the math, show me equations in green, gold, vermilion, plum— whatever comes out of the dark around us and the sun and all the sons and daughters of the stars— the universe a crystal, charmed, worn in the hollow of God’s throat and warmed.
Silence is misery, said a friend in a casual comment on the phone. Elizabeth spent three days with no one to interrupt her but her own fears. Lulls during which she noticed the buzz and pop, resting from the hike on a stone. Her retreat intended to evade noise, but she found the clawing of forest murder and distant yelps. That’s when she saw a tree, already turned the color of flame against the others’ ordinary green, like the great voice of one who had to speak. Not a word for three days, unable to resist the conversation released within. Slow sun upon a single tree that stands without explanation on the edge of the meadow with red leaves, a hawk glides above the landscape of pines between silence and speech.
Soap foams like spume on waves sloshing toward shore. And the water is warm as I wipe each dish and fork like the sea wipes its sand-caked brow.
Summer is over. My kids sit at the table, doing their homework. My husband outside, his tractor chugging as he whittles away his work,
cutting square after shrinking square into our lawn. Clouds crowd the blue in the September sky, squeezing the sun into one long beam
leaning like a ladder against our house, stretching through my window. I sense the cold feet of winter on the top rung,
heading down. But the water is warm as it spills from the spigot like light. My hands clinging to the cup that now runs over.
Study war no more
Mar 18, 2011
Michael Izbicki grew up in a nondenominational church in California. A National Merit Scholarship finalist, he chose to go to the U.S. Naval Academy out of a sense of duty to his country during a time of war. At the naval academy he began to doubt whether the career to which he had committed himself could be squared with the tenets of just war doctrine. He got in trouble when he responded no to this exam question: "If given the order, would you launch a missile carrying a nuclear warhead?" After a four-year legal battle, the navy discharged him as a conscientious objector. Izbicki may have to reimburse the service for part or all of his education (New York Times, February 22).