By Patrick Woodcock
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Extra resources for Always die before your mother
When they were in the terror years — those between childhood and adulthood — they were sent higher up into the mountains to study at the University of Every Time You Speak a Work of Art Should Be Produced. It was there that our two lovers met. He was studying to breathe like a poet, and she was studying to breathe like a sculptress. Obviously, they fell in love and spent hours dreaming of the years of joy ahead of them — the years of art ahead of them. But one day, when they were walking home, a jealous peasant, who had only learned to breathe ropes, still angry for being banished from school 34 for his stertorous ways, dropped a noose from a tree and hanged the young man.
Their wedding night was spent pushing bodies downstream. The next day, while the new bride was washing her sister-in-law’s gown, the most beautiful woman in the province was taken to the river. Her father held the rope. The hook piercing her lower lip. 33 A F T E R WAT C H I N G A G Y P S Y G I R L CRYING IN A CEMETERY Years ago, I was told of a secluded village in the mountains. A village of perpetual daylight, where the air was always cold. You can read a man’s thoughts by the way he breathes, they used to say.
6. Suicide dogs, Christ, I understand your progression, your undarkening eyes. I’ve imagined coaches and horse dung and the scraggy-headed succession of order. I’ve pawed at Him for years while the roaches after flying through my window stopped beating their wings and wondered acoustically — fleeting? 46 T H E C H I VA A C C I D E N T Forgotten was the rainbow’s glow when it decided to carve and carve and carve. And when it chose to butcher, then bloody, then throw, it chose a baby to cradle and the same baby, starve.
Always die before your mother by Patrick Woodcock