<stern's "winter thirst"> 2002-11-27.7:02 p.m. Winter Thirst Gerald Stern I grew up with bituminous in my mouth and sulfur smelling like rotten eggs and I first started to cough because my lungs were like cardboard; and what we called snow was gray with black flecks that were like glue when it came to snowballs and made them hard and crusty, though we still ate the snow anyhow, and as for filth, well, start with smoke, I carried it with me I know everywhere and someone sitting beside me in New York or Paris would know where I came from, we would go in for dinner-- red meat loaf or brown choucroute--and he would guess my hill, and we would talk about soot and what a dirty neck was like and how the white collar made a fine line; and I told him how we pulled heavy wagons and loaded boxcars every day from five to one A.M. and how good it was walking empty-handed to the no. 69 streetcar and how I dreamed of my bath and how the water was black and soapy then and what the void was like and how a candle instructed me. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad