THE SWEET
AND THE SOUR
Keep going,
she said, never stop.
The first place
was a window seat
near a
picture of Mary and her Little Lamb,
the window right
above an approximately vertical
driveway
and she, unofficial goddess of mirth,
threatening
to dangle us from the window ledge. Proving?
Even
mothers can have a fairly fucked-up sense of humor.
The second place
had lemons and limes
pieces of
which floated in the potent beverages
of village elders.
The third
place was a desert landscape.
A cactus garden
in the side yard. It scared me. It
was too
sharp. There was grapefruit with sugar sprinkled on top
paving a soft
pink highway to the sweet and sour, the wisdom
of precisely
mixed opposites, and that you could eat them with breakfast.
Then:
a
seminal scene
from
Fellini Satyricon: a naked African girl
in bed with
two smitten bi-sexual boys,
chattering in
a pretty language no man can understand
but wants
to listen to for the rest of his life, her breasts
like two
small perfect fruits you might find
ripening in
some amply watered oasis in Ethiopia or Somalia,
her hands
like elegant birds hovering in space—
though
where the sour amid all of this sweetness might be
found is
not entirely clear, and should remain so,
and why
this scene should be deemed “seminal” is
not all
that clear either, but we will leave it at that—
and a
crucial moment in “Sentimental Education” when Flaubert
has
Frederic Moreau feel compassion for the gray haired woman
he glimpses
briefly behind shutters,
the older
woman he was obsessed with in his youth
when the
sweet and the sour
wouldn’t
have been seen on the same plate together
speaks for
itself, and that is enough.
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