De Amerikaanse schrijver David Leavitt werd geboren in Pittsburgh op 23 juni 1961. Zie ook alle tags voor David Leavitt op dit blog.
Uit: Shelter in Place
“Unless it’s hate speech,” Rachel said.
“Fuck hate speech,” Aaron said.
“Speaking for myself, I’d be disinclined to take the risk,” Min said. “What about you, Jake?”
“Me?” said Jake, who was not used to being addressed on these occasions. “Well, I wouldn’t not do it out of fear. I mean, I wouldn’t do it—but not out of fear.”
“The thing is, even if you did kill him, would it do any good?” Sandra said. “Pence would be president. That might actually be worse.”
“We’re not talking about actually killing him,” Grady said. “We’re talking about asking Siri how to kill him. There’s a big difference.”
“You mean it’s a sort of thought experiment,” Sandra said.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Aaron took his phone out of his jacket pocket, pressed the home button, and said, “Siri, how would I—”
“No, don’t.” Rachel grabbed the phone away from him. “I won’t let you.”
“Who, me?” Siri said.
“Give me my phone,” Aaron said.
“That may be beyond my abilities at the moment,” Siri said.
“Only if you promise not to do it,” Rachel said.
“Rachel, I’m asking nicely,” Aaron said. “Give me back my phone.”
“No.”
Right then Matt Pierce came onto the porch with the scones. “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Normal service has been resumed . . . What’s the matter?”
“I’ll count to ten,” Aaron said to Rachel. “One, two, three—”
“Oh, just take it,” Rachel said. “Just take the goddamn thing.”
She threw the phone at him and ran into the house.
Everyone looked at Aaron.
“What?” Aaron said.
“Don’t those scones smell delicious?” Eva said. “But I fear the tea may have oversteeped.”
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Matt said, backing through the door that led to the kitchen.
*
In the winter of 2016, Eva Lindquist was fifty-six but looked ten years younger. Though tall, she did not give an impression of height, perhaps because Bruce, her husband, was so much taller, nearly six foot six. Given her last name, many people assumed her to be of Scandinavian descent, an impression she did little to counteract and more than a little to cultivate, most notably by tying her hair in plaits and wrapping them around her head.”
De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Lucille Clifton werd geboren in New York op 27 juni 1936. Zie ook alle tags voor Lucille Clifton op dit blog.
Maankind
wat er ook de kamer van mijn moeder in glipte die
late juninacht, en op haar dikke buik klopte,
riep me rondhoofdig en zonder lachen naar buiten.
is dit de maan, grijnsde mijn vader,
die mij altijd wiegde? het was de maan
maar dat wist toen niemand.
de maan begrijpt donkere plaatsen.
de maan heeft haar eigen geheimen.
ze houdt zoveel licht als ze kan.
wij meisjes waren tien jaar oud en giechelden
in onze afdankertjes. we wilden borsten,
deden alsof we ze hadden, stopten tissues
onder onze hemdjes. jay johnson leert
me tongzoenen, schepte ella op, wie
leert het jou? wie zeg je; mijn vader?
de maan is de koningin van alles.
ze heerst over de oceanen, rivieren, regen.
wanneer mij wordt gevraagd van wie deze tranen zijn
geef ik altijd de maan de schuld.
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 23e juni ook mijn blog van 23 juli 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 23 juni 2019 en ook mijn blog van 23 juni 2018 deel 1 en ook deel 2.