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authorCase Duckworth2015-03-02 16:47:25 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-03-02 16:47:25 -0700
commitc1eb96578e5a40d2b6eaee0ace394cff8daf197b (patch)
treeeeac1967a361f2a7f245cb0076b63d526ab45341 /last-passenger.html
parentFirst complete src/ linking complete (diff)
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autocento-c1eb96578e5a40d2b6eaee0ace394cff8daf197b.zip
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1<!DOCTYPE html>
2<!-- Template for compiled 'Autocento' documents -->
3<html>
4<head>
5 <meta charset="utf-8">
6 <meta name="generator" content="pandoc">
7 <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0, user-scalable=yes">
8 <meta name="author" content="Case Duckworth">
9 <!-- more meta tags here -->
10 <title>Last passenger | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
11 <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="css/_common.css">
12 <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="css/verse.css">
13 <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="css/autocento.css">
14 <!--[if lt IE 9]>
15 <script src="http://html5shim.googlecode.com/svn/trunk/html5.js"> </script>
16 <![endif]-->
17 </head>
18<body>
19
20
21 <header>
22 <!-- title -->
23 <h1 class="title">Last passenger</h1>
24
25 </header>
26
27 <section class="verse">
28 <p>Memory works strangely, <a href="roughgloves.html">spooling its thread</a><br />over the <a href="when-im-sorry.html">nails of events</a> barely related,<br />creating finally some picture, if we’re<br />lucky, of a life—but more likely, it knots<br />itself, catches on a nail or in our throats<br />that gasp, as it binds our necks, for air.</p>
29 <p>An example: today marks one hundred years<br />since your namesake, the last living passenger<br />pigeon, died in Cincinnati. It also marks<br />a year since we last spoke. Although around<br />the world, zoos mourn her loss, I’m done<br />with you. I mourn no more your voice, the first<br />sound I heard outside my body that reached<br /><a href="weplayedthosegamestoo.html">into my throat and set me ringing</a>. But that string—</p>
30 <p>memory that feels sometimes more like a tide<br />has yoked together, bound your voice to that bird,<br />the frozen, stuffed, forgotten pigeon—my heart<br />is too easy, but it must do—to blink, to flex<br />its unused toes, slowly thaw to the wetness<br />of <a href="cold-wind.html">beating wings</a>, fly to me again, and alight,<br />singing full-throated, on my broken shoulder.</p>
31 </section>
32
33 <nav>
34 <a href="#" id="lozenge"> &loz; </a>
35 </nav>
36
37</body>
38</html>