Jack Pines by Neil Dyer Narratives of New Netherland 1570—1970 by Sean

'Jack Pines' droop with humps of snow now dropping patchy shadows upon the avenue: four o’clock and the bluing edges of the day are ragged with emergent stars an insufficient sun, a threadbare sun low and vanishing behind the breezy coolish clack of naked apple trees; we take a coffee in the corner of the church

basement. slush from our sodden shoes

puddling beneath the table, your woolen tie is knotted like a stone below

your chin: the night is arriving like a speciesl. and I feel the aggregation of half a hundred Christmases upon my back. may I say it. an evolution fiom embryo In paraclete; the altar is red with the bloodl of Poinsettias and crisp with light; you ask me if I remember when and yes I do; we will sing and pray and button tight our coats while walking home in the steamy winter dark; we are vulgar people. our mum: am of broken teeth and bread.

Neil Dyer 2008