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Something So Fine

Something So Fine thing and everyone, including me. She never apologized. I don't think she ever remembered that it happened. be up there, sitting in his truck, making fun of her as she stumbled inside. Why made themselves comfortable on the The house. Sure. Maybe Frank would pillows. "No, I've got to go home. Frank's face. expecting me," she said, looking at the floor, the window, anywhere but my didn't she just yank his truck door open and pull him out? "Stay for supper," I said. scarf. What can you do in a situation like that? I'm no therapist. I'm not even a "No," she busied herself with her good friend-I just let her go. It was too polished off the entire fifth-she always door. reached for the handle. The cats rushed Tony shoved open the door as she dark to see beyond the snow swirling around the porch light, but I'm sure she bought fifths-after opening the Lincoln's And it must have been real cold higher up on the mountain, because she set the whole house on fire. Two hours later as in around his legs. accused. they get in? Did you let them in?" he per," I said. her. warmth, that was their motto. "How did From warmth to "Fm trying to get Iris to stay for sup- "You've got to," he said, turning to "Look at that snow come down. You can just stay the night." the window vanished. prised. Tony switched the light on and the half-inch of snow which lay against Iris was still We both looked out the window, sur- fumbling with her scarf, and the cats we plowed up the road, the volunteer fire department in front of us moving as fast as they could, the glow made it even through all that snow. It was those heaps and heaps of things, I thought, big heaps. It was thirty years of heaps burning bright as Roanoake. I hoped she was happy. I knew it would be too late, when we got there, to ever find out. You must not look at me in falling light. The measure of the moment is too bright. The cold, gold sunset hurts my eyes tonight. I will not listen to those panes of gray. Touch was so articulate that day The smoke of ironweed warmed reserve away. Your West Virginia face was poetry. I loved the hollows of its symmetry Too much to know it could not shelter me. There was something so fine about that hill, Your old house standing bravely up to chill, While white wind heaped dead leaves upon the sill. Close your eyes the meaning is too plain. They sing me Wednesday like an old refrain, But sun will not stand still for that again. -Sandra Fowler http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Something So Fine

Appalachian Review , Volume 18 (1) – Jan 8, 1990
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
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Abstract

thing and everyone, including me. She never apologized. I don't think she ever remembered that it happened. be up there, sitting in his truck, making fun of her as she stumbled inside. Why made themselves comfortable on the The house. Sure. Maybe Frank would pillows. "No, I've got to go home. Frank's face. expecting me," she said, looking at the floor, the window, anywhere but my didn't she just yank his truck door open and pull him out? "Stay for supper," I said. scarf. What can you do in a situation like that? I'm no therapist. I'm not even a "No," she busied herself with her good friend-I just let her go. It was too polished off the entire fifth-she always door. reached for the handle. The cats rushed Tony shoved open the door as she dark to see beyond the snow swirling around the porch light, but I'm sure she bought fifths-after opening the Lincoln's And it must have been real cold higher up on the mountain, because she set the whole house on fire. Two hours later as in around his legs. accused. they get in? Did you let them in?" he per," I said. her. warmth, that was their motto. "How did From warmth to "Fm trying to get Iris to stay for sup- "You've got to," he said, turning to "Look at that snow come down. You can just stay the night." the window vanished. prised. Tony switched the light on and the half-inch of snow which lay against Iris was still We both looked out the window, sur- fumbling with her scarf, and the cats we plowed up the road, the volunteer fire department in front of us moving as fast as they could, the glow made it even through all that snow. It was those heaps and heaps of things, I thought, big heaps. It was thirty years of heaps burning bright as Roanoake. I hoped she was happy. I knew it would be too late, when we got there, to ever find out. You must not look at me in falling light. The measure of the moment is too bright. The cold, gold sunset hurts my eyes tonight. I will not listen to those panes of gray. Touch was so articulate that day The smoke of ironweed warmed reserve away. Your West Virginia face was poetry. I loved the hollows of its symmetry Too much to know it could not shelter me. There was something so fine about that hill, Your old house standing bravely up to chill, While white wind heaped dead leaves upon the sill. Close your eyes the meaning is too plain. They sing me Wednesday like an old refrain, But sun will not stand still for that again. -Sandra Fowler

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 1990

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