ISSUE 5 · FALL 2010
: sign language :
JOSEPH A. W. QUINTELA
solitude - 1: the state of being or living alone; seclusion 2: remoteness from habitations, as of a place; absence of human activity 3: a lonely unfrequented place.
: and then We are here : traipsing through the stanza like a pair of wayward gazelle : reveling in the unkempt grass : dry prairie stretched like sprouted saran wrap to the edge of our perception : when suddenly : without warning : it comes to a sharp : though not yet unpleasant halt : let us pause : for a statuesque assessment of intention : and a hint of pregnant breeze : cool as a radioactive cucumber upon the tip of each filament raised in terrified salute : gaze : the unforgiving lasso of two concordant eyes : so that now : as two hands flash across the landscape : we have become urbanely uttered interlopers in an otherwise pastoral scene : the careless hands that lure : a huntress to the page :
: and then We are there : rapt gaze on the fallen : the wrenching juxtaposition of her softly bleating mate : let us join in mourning : though it is but brief repose : as two hands reach into the weed-draped sky and with a twist unleash a torrent : to wash away the crimson ink :
solitude - 4: the widow drowning in a skirmish between rain and lightning on this tinderbox of plain.
Joseph A. W. Quintela marshals words unto the battlefield with little regard for their souls. That is a lie. In fact, he cries each time a word is felled. In solitude. Where the tears cannot be mistaken for a waterfall. Beautiful. Innocent. He raises letters and tells them that a story is a lie that is necessary for their existence. He raises punctuation marks and tells them they are letters. When they all grow up to be morticians and serial killers he feigns surprise, draws a knife across his supper and says, Nothing can be told without death.