Winebottle

I am a chrysanthemum / stuck in a winebottle / my edges red / with appetite […]

1896[:] Born December 27 in Nackenheim on the Rhine, the second of two sons. Father is owner of a winebottle cap factory.

A warm green, I think that is the earliest image in my memory: the green of a tiled stove whose upper rim supposedly was ringed by the relief design of a gypsy camp. But I only know that because my mother told me. However I rack my brain, it will not bring this picture back to me. But I kept the green, a warm winebottle green with a dull shine.

Suddenly, a faint moan emanated from the cantonment. Distant lungs blowing the neck of a winebottle. ¶ “What's that big weird noise?” demanded Katrinko, all alert interest.

Ewan works a solid half-hour and the viced scroll looks barely scratched. He stretches, then, clutching an armful of empty winebottles, he slips outside. The voices are louder next door. He smells citronella and mosquito coils.