Each of them—each members of a squad—writing on the mirror in blue marker. Each of them writing a Latin letterset. Each writing in between. Each writing faster than the last. Each writing—quickly, precisely—each writing—
—loosely, slowly—
—each writing—
—briskly. Each writing, letting its blue out on clear, almost-100%, reflective, predictive, pure. Zebra patterns. Indelible in form, pattern perfect, repeating in squad, immaculate, indelible, glass—indelible to the glass. Invincible. Invincible to the runt. Invincible to the runt. Invincible. Imperfect, cannot predict, immoral. Blameless. Unutterable.
I cannot utter the blameless, cannot predict the immoral.
I cannot briskly write, cannot pick the blue from sky.
Pick blue from crayons, write on table. We wait.
I draw blue clouds, blue sky, blue birds—everything blue!—blue house, blue Maytag man, blue flowers, blue door—to blue—house. Everything is blue! Blue grass in the yard, blue grasshoppers (eating people's lungs), blue mishmash lollipop, blue socks on my shoes, blue shoes!—
Blue shoes for the footprint family.
Blue watches for the wearing-watch family.
And a blue sky (on the tablecloth)—it has blue for everyone.
Blue mirror mask blue blue blue hard times. That's the blue for everyone—blue for the sky! for antelopes! For Naples. Fornication. For—nic—ation. Fornication. Leap in the swimming. Jump out—take picture—jump in—'nother picture. In pic—out pic—in pic—out. There is a fetus on the last pic (FETUS ON THE LAST PIC). Fetus on the last pic. Unadorned. Flying model. Piece of cake—piece of cake! Unadorned flying pic, flying pic, of the model in Caro space with Lipton (unadorned) set hardly on the table by (1) hand (dressed neatly in seven colors) (2) wrists of the hand (undressed hardly from seven colors)—and that's it. No more dressing, undressing—no more hardly unhanding—no more capitals. She (the hand) sits on the table—politely. (Polemically politely.) When the lamp lifts the lamp lifts the hand off the table quietly—polemically—but politely.
Quickly.
But quietly.
I have my friend. Here with me at the table. His name is—redacted—and his shoe size is—redacted. His sense of humor is—redacted—and his place of living is—redacted. But even so, he creeps over me—drives his car—stops at the gas station—burns his Newport 100s—redacted—redacted—redacted.
I was put here by a firetruck. Yes, I was put here by a red fire of truck. Truck of fire truck, placed in this exact spot drawing on the table with crayons. Unplaceable truck. If I am in the truck—am I unplaceable? Negligible? Am I unmonitorable? (The words fall apart for me at this point—They are uncatchable—Unfindable—Blank.) I Scrabble on the floor picking up every tile—Z A B—finding every one I want—M C D—placing them on my board backwards from the shelf back back backwards! spelling out everything! every word imaginable! every word part! each and every tiny little word! and word more known to the animal kingdom (this is quite a few!) and known behind the anima kingdo th anim king t. Put here by a firetruck.
Unplugged. That was the word I forgot.
Make me remember that one.
Shallow me in hand to remember that one.
Lick me in lore to remember that one.
That is the one I want to remember—unplugged.
Because unplugged is what happens to me when the child comes out. Because unplugged is the reason I was connected. Because unplugged is the opposite of plugged, and plugged is what happens when I am With Child unplugged is the nature of it all unplugged is how—unplugged is how I became connected to this world, plugged in, plugged in, plugged.
"The umbilical cord (also called the navel string, birth cord, or funiculus umbilicalis) is a conduit between the developing embryo or fetus and the placenta. During prenatal development, the umbilical cord is physiologically and genetically part of the fetus and normally contains two arteries (the umbilical arteries) and one vein (the umbilical vein)—buried within Wharton's jelly. The umbilical vein supplies the fetus with oxygenated, nutrient-rich blood from the placenta. Conversely, the fetal heart pumps deoxygenated, nutrient-depleted blood through the umbilical arteries back to the placenta."
That's what my encyclopedia says—more or less.
It's not very clear—salient—not very that.
I am come down from the Mountain, come down from it whiling, whiling, forking, nettling, climbing down from the yellow body sensors, yellow and black sensors all over the body, elevating, 'levating, tensing, tensing from 100 down to one, cycling, cycling, run-picking, dumb-picking, '-pointing, splinting, splitting, spitting, spiting, down down down. We go from 100 down to one, rum-splinting, devouring, pum-kicking, picking, splinting, saying it one to 100, saying it again, saying it once, saying it over and over again. That was the rum kicker, pum-splitter, splittance, devouring words from full-size down to small—a size for all. A size for all—a mall—going shopping with Daddy, when I was a little girl. When everything was my size—all shelves to my satisfaction, all items my length and height—all sizes small—all rogue beasts my little-girl height—every soldier my girl—every soldier my girl size—every soldier my girl's (self) little or more—little or more, my soldier's gate—little or more, Deathclaw—little or more, my Deathclaw—zoned you to size five—zoned you down to size my—size blown down to four—that is all.