FAIR GROUNDS
Murray and Arlene's first meeting: Surf Avenue, Coney Island, MY, 1953
by Michelle Taransky
How clean the revelers strutting no eyes. Why do we eat only fish with no eyes? asks one child. The island lost her stomach underfoot, so believe the answer lies beneath a poster bed. This specific
He came out of hiding
for the affair. At the English markets the Russian oaks are always sold in flitched logs. Piths cut out. Sappy edges shaved.
She knew of organizations;
stacks lining the round
skeletons, women's clubs and
leisure. A chairborne worker, a
watcher of the lent and incoming
returns
Candy floss, he saw her first like
candy. A tangerine section un- peeled, orange. Who would look so lovely beneath a roller
coaster? The chestnut of the carousel's procession the crowd recalls. He joins the wait. There she is. Pony, pony, horse, carriage, pony, horse, there she is again. Yellow cardigan, candy apple, hazel eyes, a slow boiled nut dipped in grape pulp. Churchkella rounds hang for three Caucasus winters. To win her:
I'm in joinery. I'm in a union. I am a cabinet maker of intricacies. I'm an orphan. A Russian. I had a quince tree behind my house. I'm precious. And desperate. A bazaar. I am a country. I left my parents in the old country. I have one eyebrow. No language. A country. I have no joints. I am hungry and you are sweet sections. I'm a shop. I keep nothing. I was salted before I was born. And she:
My father is a lord. My father is unable to lend
me his time. My father, in time, has decayed. He
won't cut the turkey until everyone
arrives. My father has no wife. His grave
is pink stone. Father's wife makes plumb
cakes. A holder of stocks. Father's talismans
are delicate. Father is an estate. My father has five
wives. He has one child. My father is father to
foregrounds. My father's
forehead is bare.
The two are continuing the drive towards epics, Mother and breeding. No matter the draft, revisions, or the strength of the armatures he built, his first mate was found at a fair. Stained
glass eye without
a partner. Full of brown
skinned pears, fair
prices for novelty and
amusement. If she knew
he was watching, she would
have waved. She had wanted
to be a drafts-
woman.
I'm in joinery. I'm in a union. I'm a cabinet maker of fixtures. If you need fixing, I own the supplies. I only charge into the room if I know I'm expected. I'm building a garage, I am a shed. I have farm and factory. I claim no curiosity for city living. I cured my mother with rich Slavic air. I am married to a profession. Never travel to Egypt.
My library is full. My library is round. The library
was designed with the sun in mind. My library rushes
to close. My library has no queen. My library is
disguised during war. My desks are
ornate. The library holds folios. My library is a kingdom.
My library is an eternal light. Too large
for the building. My library has a third ear.
My library is never open.
carousel cares little, for a Coney Island
of the mind. Full,
fragrant foliage, Murray
leaps up to our rider. For
Arlene he would not
wait, I will draw you in. I do not like horses. I will brace the walls and taste from your rough basket, heaped with spices and melons from the market.
The horse
drawn
carriage would have been
enough. He carries her
through the door
ways to choose
her. His last
name. He gave her
his last name. To last
to bear their
children. Carry on.