Victoria Anderson | “Low Songs”
In this old stone corridor with its narrowing plank of sunlight,
the throatiest coo in Mexico comes from the pigeon above. Just
death in another disguise. At the Mercado a cardboard child’s
toy is a funeral procession complete with a treadmill for moving
the mourners. The last turn of the crank provides the coffin.
Last night the flamenco singer’s voice registered as low as the
pigeon’s. No translation was necessary. Here no one is trying to
beat death. Elbow to elbow they walk toward it. I’m tired of
pumping myself full of remedies. Next month I will go to my
mother’s grave and spread a blanket of marigolds. At five we’ll
share a cocktail mixed strong. I’ll transport beauty and arrange
it just so. Then I’ll explain the dance, the thundering purple
shoes, the lift of the skirt, and the dancer’s hands working like
birds, furious with ecstasy and death.
Listen to Victoria read “Low Songs” here.
Published in The 2River Review.