Utrillo: 1

Part one:  In unknowable cahoots with an unreliable narrator, Utrillo’s life is addressed. 

It so begins on an historic day, though Maurice is incapable of participating, having no fixed

 address.  The setting of his travails is recognizable in some ways--not so in others. We know little,

 really, of anything.  

Maurice Utrillo lived.  He died sometime later.  

What we do know is elusive.  This is both about him and not at all. It is his story. It is a life he might not recognize.  It is yours.

1  Election Day

It so happened it began to rain that darkness

spreading through the day.  Anyone (who was almost every

one) certain to stay

away.  Unwavering, the wind struck down the inert

few who waited, filed under the eaves.

Caught up in the current, the leaflets

spun up and out in an invisible eddy,

left there, unfolded on the ground.

No sound.  Unread.

Utrillo stepped onto the earth,

though this was unlike the first

moment, given birth.  “His coat” described only  what was left of it.  It’s not as if he

were anywhere en route.

Cinder-breath—stiff-limbed, maladroit

in all manner of speaking.

The day (such as it was)

undetected, night leaking

through.  There is little or no connection between wrapping your mind around a thought and wrapping

yourself in a blanket.  Though maybe thoughts needed warmth, connection.  Yet what little

comfort they gave. Despite the sky that self-reflexively opened itself or the water that came spilling down, Utrillo ambled about.  Town

lodged in his throat.