The whole thing stitched together
I go to see the quilt
on my neighbour's recommendation.
The exhibition is called
'Stitching the World', and
every country
has a panel made by
one of their own
local artisans.
The curator has
at least twice as much
teeth as a normal person should.
My neighbour's never been
to the gallery, she read about
the quilt in the local paper.
I decide that she thought
this might be fun
because she's one of those people
that only read
the lifestyle section
of the paper.
And because she knows
that I read a lot too
she thinks I'd appreciate
the quilt's metaphor.
But she doesn't understand.
I've never read the lifestyle
section, I read the news, the
op-eds, and the sports if I
have time.
Op-ed people have a hard time seeing
stitching as anything
but a means to repair small holes.
And the whole world, then, in stitches, is
a simple,
sad thing.
South Asian girl reading the Saturday obituaries
young, younger than me, even.
Cinnamon-stick neck lifted up, tilted
to the far corner of the page. Back
turned away and curved; swallow-slight.
New flip in her braids, the cool mid-morning
fatigue of youth. Somewhere between 15 years old
and a million. Her zen-fingers float a
hold on the pages, summer-soft, pinch lightly
at the edges, cautious not to touch the
typeface, the warm, dry footprint of a life.
I do what I can
I apologize for all
the holes in my
resume.
And he doesn't seem to notice, or
he's learned not to
ask such questions.
The man stands up, says
if I want I can start on
Monday, the job pays out at
minimum wage, of course.
nowadays?
He says $6.25 an hour as per the changes made
last April.
Actually it's $6.50 once you factor in
the mandatory legal vacation pay.
But I don't want him
to know that I know that.
I give up the quarter to spare myself
suspicion.
I refuse any further
sacrifices to pride.
I do what I can to avoid
hearing him ask
how I know
the things that
I do.
About the author:
Jacob McArthur Mooney lives in Canada with his roommates and an oak tree. There is an ocean nearby. Often, he goes to college. Recent publications include online at Zygote in my Coffee, Thieves Jargon, and Turk Magazine, also in print at The Halifax Review. He was born in 1983. It was the year of the boar.
© 2009 Word Riot
