by Noa Covo
The matchmaker likes to tell God what she thinks would fit together.
The house over the hill would like a woman to sing inside of it, and the abandoned car on the street dreams of eloping with a crowd of reckless teenagers.
The matchmaker knows that not everything lives in harmony. In order to bring two things together, there has to be a bond, a reason. She mulls over each pair before offering them skywards.
The old books on the curb want someone to read them. The cicadas would like a saucer of wine to sip when they grow weary of chirping. The sky would be happy with round china plates.
She has had her own share of unsuccessful matches. But the weddings, oh, the weddings, when they happen, are beautiful. The matchmaker wears her best dress and watches the bride and groom kiss. Sometimes she sees the children born of it. Sometimes she hears of a nasty divorce. It is to be expected, after all, all these people divorcing, matches unmatching, but it drives her to distraction anyway.
Why try to bring things together if they fall apart?
The matchmaker asks God. She doesn’t think he minds the questions. He is a matchmaker himself, of course, although as the creator he also separates, dark from light and sky from sea.
The red shoes in the shop need a pair of feet to wear them. There was a lonely swan in the pond yesterday, let it find its mate.
They say that swans mate forever. She hopes it’s true. She hears about a particularly harsh divorce, one where there was shouting, a couple who she had brought together, so bright on their wedding day. Not everything stays together, but there was beauty, she thinks, in how they looked at each other all those years ago. How they stared into each other’s eyes.
She takes the plates from the kitchen. She tosses them upwards, and they spin, almost stars. She turns away before they fall, splinter, white shards in the grass.
Noa Covo’s work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Passages North, Waxwing, and Hayden’s Ferry Review online. Her micro-chapbook, Bouquet of Fears, was published by Nightingale and Sparrow Press. She can be found on Twitter @covo_noa.
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What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Matchmaker”? This micro was inspired by Jewish matchmaking (shidduch). While writing, I thought about what it must be like to bring people together for a living. That led me to think about other things that I felt belonged together in some way or another, such as cicadas and wine. In a way I think that this micro is me trying my hand at being a matchmaker.
What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Matchmaker”?
This micro was inspired by Jewish matchmaking (shidduch). While writing, I thought about what it must be like to bring people together for a living. That led me to think about other things that I felt belonged together in some way or another, such as cicadas and wine. In a way I think that this micro is me trying my hand at being a matchmaker.
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