f train.fire. flames. revolution and my grandmother
margerette frank was my grandmother before she became peggy deacon. she became peggy in jr high school a name given to her by a friend who loved her before and after she became a feeble womyn unable to create sentences. she died in october, just seven months ago. i have her books of matches. i keep most of them in tattered cardboard boxes that also once belonged to her. some of peggys matches can be found around the house: the bathrooom, in kitchen drawers, atop the stereo and coffee table. standing out from the other matchbooks laying around on most surfaces, they are coloful with pictures and words referencing the places they were collected from.
there are other matches also on nearly any given surface on this house, there are literally matchbooks everywhere. i relate it to living with 2 smokers and also the fact that none of the matches really work, so we keep collecting more in hopes they will be better than the last. the matchbooks that never belonged to my grandmother are from the bodega on the corner, or some other deli on another corner. they are blank white cardboard folded over paper sticks. the paper sticks are lined up like sleeping soldiers in funny flint hats. they do not separate easily and spark when lighting, burning out in less than seconds. there are also the campfire matches, made in india distributed in west paris, maine. they break in half when striking.
in one of the herb boxes i keep hidden in my room there is a book or two of matches my grandmother collected in paris, these i do not light.
sometimes in the garden her mind would drift and she would stare blankly and smile other times she would mistake me for my mother, or my aunt for my mother. it is thought that some months before she suffered a stroke.
im dont know exactly how to spell my grandmothers name. nor do i know where her parents came from or where she grew up. ive never asked. i suppose i could ask my father or an aunt or uncle these things. but there are so many things they cannot tell me. like why she saved match books and cardboard spice boxes for 50years.
i believe she grew up in brooklyn. or was it the bronx?
taking the F train south to midwood made me wonder about my family history. was i passing over the very house my grandmother lived in?
the F train runs in and out of tunnels. underground and above neighborhoods and highways. somewhere near ft hamilton if you look towards the clock tower you see a canal that runs behind an overgrown factory, covered in painted names and ivy.
im commuting to midwood twice a week now to work for angry little man whom i think may adore me. (strickly because he knows i must always see him as right and everyone else as wrong.) he curses and spits and paces, but dont be mistaken, he is no cowboy. he is an agitated insurance salesman. hes my other bosses cousin. i went from work for an eccentric lovely man from israel to a frantic and forever agitated old man with digestion problems. oh at least the train ride is above ground and less than a hour long.
after work despite being exhausted and broke i decided to meet up with a____ for dinner and a movie. he really is incredibly wonderful and i absolutly adore him. he will never know how gratful and sorry i am. after deciding on the train to see V for Vendetta (making that choice because a: its based on a comic which alex likes and b: its about anarchy, which i like.) we had two hours to kill so we ducked into the strand to lust over books we couldnt afford. me in poetry and him with the art books we killed a half hour and left buying nothing.
for dinner we went to cedar for burgers and cokes. we talked about what we had heard on the radio today, his plans for the fall, my everyday complaints, the rain in new england, fossils on on moon and just nonsense.
after dinner we went over to washington square to mill about. i shouted viva la revelution! and told a____ my plans for harvesting cranberries in october.
the movie was incredible. you really must see it if you havent. afterwards i wanted to watch something explode or start a fire. instead i whispered nursery rhymes and quietly waited for the train.
"hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle..."
at lorimer i watched a rat dance around the tacks to the man singing on the platform. her was wearing a mall security gaurd uniform and was half drunk and half asleep he swayed back and forth with his eyes shut sweetly singing some r&b song. on the train there was a cop in nearly every car. everyone was quiet, they kept there eyes on thier reflections in the windows or closed them trying to sleep. i looked at their guns and their faces and tried see inside of them. what would they do if there was a revolution?
maybe we should start one and find out.
ive got the matches, do you have a brick?
there are other matches also on nearly any given surface on this house, there are literally matchbooks everywhere. i relate it to living with 2 smokers and also the fact that none of the matches really work, so we keep collecting more in hopes they will be better than the last. the matchbooks that never belonged to my grandmother are from the bodega on the corner, or some other deli on another corner. they are blank white cardboard folded over paper sticks. the paper sticks are lined up like sleeping soldiers in funny flint hats. they do not separate easily and spark when lighting, burning out in less than seconds. there are also the campfire matches, made in india distributed in west paris, maine. they break in half when striking.
in one of the herb boxes i keep hidden in my room there is a book or two of matches my grandmother collected in paris, these i do not light.
sometimes in the garden her mind would drift and she would stare blankly and smile other times she would mistake me for my mother, or my aunt for my mother. it is thought that some months before she suffered a stroke.
im dont know exactly how to spell my grandmothers name. nor do i know where her parents came from or where she grew up. ive never asked. i suppose i could ask my father or an aunt or uncle these things. but there are so many things they cannot tell me. like why she saved match books and cardboard spice boxes for 50years.
i believe she grew up in brooklyn. or was it the bronx?
taking the F train south to midwood made me wonder about my family history. was i passing over the very house my grandmother lived in?
the F train runs in and out of tunnels. underground and above neighborhoods and highways. somewhere near ft hamilton if you look towards the clock tower you see a canal that runs behind an overgrown factory, covered in painted names and ivy.
im commuting to midwood twice a week now to work for angry little man whom i think may adore me. (strickly because he knows i must always see him as right and everyone else as wrong.) he curses and spits and paces, but dont be mistaken, he is no cowboy. he is an agitated insurance salesman. hes my other bosses cousin. i went from work for an eccentric lovely man from israel to a frantic and forever agitated old man with digestion problems. oh at least the train ride is above ground and less than a hour long.
after work despite being exhausted and broke i decided to meet up with a____ for dinner and a movie. he really is incredibly wonderful and i absolutly adore him. he will never know how gratful and sorry i am. after deciding on the train to see V for Vendetta (making that choice because a: its based on a comic which alex likes and b: its about anarchy, which i like.) we had two hours to kill so we ducked into the strand to lust over books we couldnt afford. me in poetry and him with the art books we killed a half hour and left buying nothing.
for dinner we went to cedar for burgers and cokes. we talked about what we had heard on the radio today, his plans for the fall, my everyday complaints, the rain in new england, fossils on on moon and just nonsense.
after dinner we went over to washington square to mill about. i shouted viva la revelution! and told a____ my plans for harvesting cranberries in october.
the movie was incredible. you really must see it if you havent. afterwards i wanted to watch something explode or start a fire. instead i whispered nursery rhymes and quietly waited for the train.
"hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle..."
at lorimer i watched a rat dance around the tacks to the man singing on the platform. her was wearing a mall security gaurd uniform and was half drunk and half asleep he swayed back and forth with his eyes shut sweetly singing some r&b song. on the train there was a cop in nearly every car. everyone was quiet, they kept there eyes on thier reflections in the windows or closed them trying to sleep. i looked at their guns and their faces and tried see inside of them. what would they do if there was a revolution?
maybe we should start one and find out.
ive got the matches, do you have a brick?