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Saturday, October 04, 2003

Twenty-eight blue pellets

The pills have come from New Zealand, by way of Vanuatu.

The wrapper is that plain one, brown, in the best porn-shipping tradition.

I find myself hidden away to see the contents alone: buried in white Styro popcorn, the small white box; within it, a clear polyethylene wheel, bearing twenty-eight blue pellets, each carefully matched to its ordinary day: Mo, Tu, We, Th, Fr, Sa, Su.

Today, which is Sa, is, however, no ordinary day.

I read, for the first time and also the last, the three hundred dreadful side effects, not without interest, not without concern.

I am not young, after all, and my heart comes from a long line of stutterers.

After, having set down the water-glass, I step into full gardener’s light; with trembling hands, I reach for string and scissors, watching a woman’s shadow, on straw, bending to her tasks.

Today, she will train peas.

Tomorrow, beans.

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