NC Artist Grant Award Recipients

The Certainty of Husbands

Elisabeth Stagg

Return to the NC Artist Grant
Award Recipients for 1997-98

At a picnic, just as I place the knife
midcenter on the thick green-striped rind,
someone remembers the train wreck.

One husband is certain that the mother
driving three young sons tried to beat the train.

Sticking knife in melon, I disagree:
"Maybe she couldn't hear the train whistle."
I think of children in the car, radio blaring
and the windows sealed against August air.

"Train whistles are loud," he says. "Deafening."
Another husband nods. "The paper said
that the witnesses heard. Why wouldn't she?"

I push the knife deep and the thin blade bends,
protesting the rind. I think of myself
on days with my car crowded with children
arguing in the backseat -- how I talk
to myself, my lips moving in silence.

My husband adds, "People think they can beat
a train -- it's like playing Russian roulette."

I think about how, in a hurry, she might
have lost track of the meaning of whistles:
"They might have had a doctor's appointment,
been late for a movie, or Little League game."

The husbands shake their heads, almost as if
they'd been behind the wheel. They're so certain
the mother intended to beat the train.

If they're right, I'd like to think that she heard
the whistle and gunned the car, not to get
some simple place she'd never see again,
or lost in inner monologue, lipping
lonely words -- or because she was afraid
that she didn't have time to hit the brakes,
but in exhilaration
feeling the surge of speed as she unleashed
the risk, just once, of unutterable
recklessness.

Pulling the knife down into the thick rind,
I say, "She might have made it."

My husband shakes his head. The others agree
that it's impossible to calculate.
"A matter of milliseconds," he says.

"She could have made it," I insist, splitting
the ripe watermelon neatly in half.
I remember hat the melon is a placenta
feeding its seeds with this bright red flesh --
fertile beginning without guarantees.

The husbands check on their children at play,
then us, their sensible wives, safe before them.

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The Certainty of Husbands Elisabeth Stagg Return to the NC Artist Grant Award Recipients for 1997-98		At a picnic, just as I place the knife midcenter on the thick green-striped rind, someone remembers the train wreck. One husband is certain that the mother driving three young sons tried to beat the train. Sticking knife in melon, I disagree: "Maybe she couldn't hear the train whistle." I think of children in the car, radio blaring and the windows sealed against August air. "Train whistles are loud," he says. "Deafening." Another husband nods. "The paper said that the witnesses heard. Why wouldn't she?" I push the knife deep and the thin blade bends, protesting the rind. I think of myself on days with my car crowded with children arguing in the backseat -- how I talk to myself, my lips moving in silence. My husband adds, "People think they can beat a train -- it's like playing Russian roulette." I think about how, in a hurry, she might have lost track of the meaning of whistles: "They might have had a doctor's appointment, been late for a movie, or Little League game." The husbands shake their heads, almost as if they'd been behind the wheel. They're so certain the mother intended to beat the train. If they're right, I'd like to think that she heard the whistle and gunned the car, not to get some simple place she'd never see again, or lost in inner monologue, lipping lonely words -- or because she was afraid that she didn't have time to hit the brakes, but in exhilaration feeling the surge of speed as she unleashed the risk, just once, of unutterable recklessness. Pulling the knife down into the thick rind, I say, "She might have made it." My husband shakes his head. The others agree that it's impossible to calculate. "A matter of milliseconds," he says. "She could have made it," I insist, splitting the ripe watermelon neatly in half. I remember hat the melon is a placenta feeding its seeds with this bright red flesh -- fertile beginning without guarantees. The husbands check on their children at play, then us, their sensible wives, safe before them.

[Welcome] [Home] [North Carolina Arts Council] [Links & Lists] [Maps & Trails] [News] [Art & Artists] [Feedback] [Index]