Double Jinx. Nancy Reddy

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Double Jinx - Nancy Reddy

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School My Father Learns to Pass for Dutch

       My Father Flying Home From War, 1975

       Genealogy

       Games

       Lent

       3 Our Wilderness Period

       Before and After, Botched

       Still Life with Mannequin and Leg of Lamb

       Fire Plan

       Frontier Thesis

       Rabbit Starvation

       Inventing the Body

       4 Bad Magic

       We Won’t Make it to the Talkies

       Vigil

       Friendly Letter

       Horses Dream of Horses

       All Good Girls Deserve

       Fervent Missive

       Revisionist Love Story

       Birds Keep Nothing in Their Bones

       Unsent Defense

       Cutting Nature at the Joint

       Come Fetch

       The Secret Nancy

       • Acknowledgements

       • About the Author

      GuideCoverContentsTitle Page

       i ii iii vi vii viii ix x 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86

      The chorus girls descend, their wings a wonder

      of feather and zipline. The oboes

      in the orchestra pit yawn

      as if to gulp them whole, but the girls

      are singing and so swallow down

      their fear. The villain shows himself

      too soon and is all wrong for this play—

      not a dashing captain but a pirate

      with a stick shift for an arm and a stopwatch

      in his heart. Where the audience

      should be—the rows of lovely velvet seats

      and numbered placards, donated

      by the dead or named for them—there’s

      only sea. The violinists do a kick turn

      and set out into the waves. What happened

      to the playwright, to the plot? Who will stitch

      the chorus to the theme? Who will,

      when the curtain drops, unhook the beauties

      from their wings and turn them back

      to girls, wrap terrycloth robes around

      their sequined bodysuits? We cannot wait

      for angels. We’ll be our own gods now.

      Watch us swinging from the rafters

      like a lifeboat or a bird of prey.

      The year my sister turned into a crow

      I ran the cinder track around the football field for hours. I stayed on

      after practice ended, after coach packed up

      his whistle and his stopwatch, after the other girls changed back

      into sweats and carpooled home. At my house

      my sister gathered all the shiny things. She plucked the buttons

      from our parkas and strung them from the bedposts,

      lined the closet doors with tinfoil and propped the silver-plated serving trays

      along the dressers so that everywhere she looked

      she’d see her own eyes looking back. She wouldn’t speak.

      When our mother called us down to dinner

      she

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