More drills. Breaths catch on her teeth, vowel speak
stutter, illiterate malaise of French
class. The cassette asks, "Do you like cats?"
She considers the feline query. Cats.
She'd forgotten about cats. This new-speak
opens her cheeks; she sits up, composes French
words: "oui" (they sneak -- paw, claw, and fur -- like French
agents) "j'aime" (curled up absent cats)
"les chats" (fur-finger memory). She speaks,
speaks French, speaks cats as the cassette rewinds.
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4 comments:
ok, that does it. now you're bringing cats into it. now i have to link this blog from mine. may i?
i really like this one, in part because chat is one of the few french words i know.
Hi,
By all means, link away. Mind if I return the favor?
thanks. you are linked.
and yes, feel free to link away if you like.
"vowel speak" or did you intend "vowels speak"?
other than that, very nice. particularly the first 3 lines. like the dual imagery of "drills"; the langauge drills and the idea of the words drilling into teeth at the same time as breath catches on them. "curled up absent cats" is also a great image: even when present, they still are absent once they curl into themselves.
one of my dearest wishes in life is to, just once, be as comfortable as a sleeping cat.
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