The auctioneer turns her. The men wait on a corn planter
and a wooden box of assorted nails. She is offered from
the porch of her own house. We pluck at her skirt. What is she
to me? I am waiting for that box of nails. What is she to me?
The quilt measures five by six feet. There are ten thousand
seven hundred squares, each one quarter inch square. I try again
to think of the neutron star. I am so angry! How can I think of mass
without volume or imagine the woman of such a quilt.
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