R. Keith's Sluicing (2019)

// sluicing

// sluicing sluicing // // sluicing R. Keith

illustrations by

Madge Maril

// Through the window the boy with beige eyes was watching the marching band that was tied to birch trees. The calendar said it was November 15th 1980. The photograph of the parking meter dropped off the wall and the glass shattered. The word Resuscitate could do nothing but collapse onto itself. The suburbs swelled in the sallow dusk. In the distance, a whiff of coal smoke from a train long passed.

Remembering limbs. Remembering breaking limbs.

//

The projection screen flickered scenes of my cousins from Manitoba in an empty swimming pool. They were ripping pages out of War & Peace. One of them laughed and said that all books were thesauri reminding us of things we already knew. My cousins from Manitoba realized it was mother’s day.

One stood up and said that it didn’t matter. They all started to argue until the one cousin standing up said that any woman can give birth to you, you give yourself life and sat back down.

They started to hum the melody of Sleepwalk in unison.

// In this scene we see a taxidermied cowboy holding a llave inglesa.

// The marching band tied to birch trees agreed they would fast for 40 days.

The calendar said it was July 25th 1958.

The roots of the birch trees followed a goat path that led to an open field. Here is a dead crop of corn husks. Here are the foot prints of vermin. The ground was made of nodules like a field of bad acne. On a mound of red earth was a jar full of ants.

// Flash back to suburbia. The taxidermied cowboy hopscotches through dog shit on the sidewalks and stops dead in his tracks. Yells at the top of his lungs I can’t get nowhere.

// A pear

// The hole in the wall is the hiding place for the jar of ants. The calendar said it was April 3rd 1995. Through window we see half a dozen suit & ties drinking coffee at a long table, complaining about their wives’ children. The window is splattered with pigeon shit. The brick building begins to shake. Newspapers jitter off the long table.

// The idiot who got themselves pregnant hums Sleepwalk. They’re not certain but they think the daddy might be a suit & tie. The marching band tied to the birch trees chortle together and spit on the grass in disgust.

// My cousins from Manitoba put the engine in the bathtub. This is your cue to make the record skip. This is your cue to think what you done with your life. The calendar said it was March 27th 1998. Through the window the boy with beige eyes threw the llave inglesa.

// The calendar said it was October 18th 1974. The taxidermied cowboy stood in the middle of the parking lot of the movie theatre and took out the photograph of the parking meter from his shirt pocket. The idiot who got themselves pregnant walked by and said Welcome to the end of your life.

The Taxidermied cowboy winked and turned their back as the sun retired into the concrete.

// What am I eating? When did we start celebrating mother’s day? How much more time on the parking meter in the photograph? These questions cragged in the brain of the taxidermied cowboy.

// The autumn wind blew the ripped out pages of War & Peace out of the empty swimming pool and into the parking lot of the movie theatre.

// A pear covered in wasps.

// There seemed to be a bit of mumbling about something to do with aurora borealis. My cousins from Manitoba asked the idiot who got themselves pregnant if they wanted to go to the movie theatre. The idiot who got themselves pregnant sighed and said No one goes there, it’s too crowded.

The calendar said it was.

// The hole in the wall projected fumes of lavender to attract the company of potential lovers. My cousins from Manitoba requested the marching band tied to the birch trees play Sleepwalk.

The ants in the jar started to eat each other.

// The ants broke out of the jar and carried the engine to stuff it in the hole in the wall.

// The hole in the wall was made by the taxidermied cowboy with the llave inglesa. The hole in the wall considered the llaves inglesa and the taxidermied cowboy its parental units. The hole in the wall covered itself from the night air with pages from War & Peace that flew into the window that was covered in pigeon shit that was cracked open.

// The idiot who got themselves pregnant was yelling at the group of half a dozen suits. She screamed Interrupt me, so I know you’re paying attention! My cousins from Manitoba were listening to the marching band tied to the birch trees play about how their fathers all taught them how to smoke cigars. Their fathers all liked to watch the disgusted faces of passersby as the thick grey smoke was blown in their direction.

The marching band tied to the birch trees said We all suffer from bronchitis now. They said this with vehemence.

// The projection screen shows my cousins from Manitoba ejaculating into the jar of ants. One of them said If this works, someday they’ll be large enough for us to ride on. The calendar said it was December 2nd 1987.

// The boy with beige eyes and the idiot who got themselves pregnant stood by the sink in the bathroom watching the engine spurt oil. The oil filled up the tub and the boy with beige eyes asked if the engine was committing suicide. The idiot who got themselves pregnant said Well, they’ve had a long enough life maybe, seen all kinds of things. The boy with beige eyes put a hand on the belly of the idiot who got themselves pregnant and asked Can you name it after them? The idiot who got themselves pregnant looked at the ants in the jar and said I hope it’s yours, I really hope so. The calendar said it was Septemeber 23rd 1990. The taxidermied cowboy walked in without knocking first and hurled the jar of ants into the empty swimming pool. The jar shattered and the ants crawled out of the empty swimming pool over to the marching band tied to birch trees.

The wind had blown pages from War & Peace. The ants chewed on the ropes that bonded the marching band tied to birch trees. The idiot who got themselves pregnant stuck her hand inside the hole in the wall and said Would they even know what to do once they’re freed? The calendar said it was January 5th 1987.

// The core of a pear beside a tiny pile of wasp wings.

// Would they even know what to do once they’re freed? … Wood day evian now what two dough ounce tar peed? …Devonian knot to tarpaulin? … My cousins from Manitoba were playing the game Chinese Whispers. One of the members of the Marching band tied to birch trees looked at the ants chewing the rope. My cousins from Manitoba all stood up at once and one said It’s better to not have friends. Another said Friends are only around when they need favours or to borrow money or want advice. A third said Enemies feelings are more genuine and the only thing they want from you is for you to leave them alone. The Marching band tied to birch trees started to hum Sleepwalk and the boy with beige eyes asked Why don’t you ever play your instruments?

The taxidermied cowboy padded the boy with beige eye on the back and said They all have asthma.

//

The hole in the wall said to the idiot who got themselves pregnant You’re just a Black eyed Susan with rose coloured glasses.

// The seeds of a pear arranged to spell the word Sluicing.

// Fade to a scene with the boy with beige eyes sits in a rocking chair. He strokes the llave inglesa on his lap as if it were a kitten. On the projection screen he watches the double exposure of the bathroom window being bricked over by the taxidermied cowboy and the idiot who got themselves pregnant tumbling down a spiral staircase.

// […]

// Fast forward images of the idiot who got themselves pregnant standing in the empty swimming pool. My cousins from Manitoba stand on the edge of the pool, one holds the llave inglesa.

Her water breaks. The water fills the swimming pool halfway and the idiot who got themselves pregnant surfaces facedown in the water. At normal speed the camera pans over to the diving board where one of my cousins from Manitoba place the llave inglesa before they all walk away.

R. Keith works in fiction, poetics, visuals and exophonic writing. His latest books include the novel Wild Rose Country (Cajun Mutt Press) and FLOP (Rust Belt Press) His visual works have been displayed in galleries in Canada, Russia, Italy and Malta Madge Maril is a femme multimedia artist, noise musician and writer based in Ohio. She enjoys shapes and attempting to illustrate emotions of the human form. Check out DUETDUET Vol. 2 (pitymilk press) to see Madge’s poetry, or find her online @donatella_ tchotchke layout by edie roberts & chelsea tadeyeske january 2019 for more void // pitymilk press m i l w a u k e e - d e t r o i t www.pitymilkpress.wordpress.com