The First Day Of Spring Is A Ragged Thing:
Through morning's burning honey-lemon light life whispers
to spring
to rise
to erase
winter's bloody raw killing frost
sun, wrap around me
slide through me
kiss me
spring
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She drank down a deep, silky red
her stunning regrets all stones in the well
an empty glass
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Outside today I sucked in my first breath of spring. Later, with the top off the Bronco I watched Orion drag his carcass through dusk's stark treetops, chasing a falling winter sky. An owl sings at the starlight.
Lily is asleep at my feet, muddy and breathless on the first day of spring. Good girl Lily.
Thinking About Tomorrow
I'll set these heavy things down
lean back crying
till the water runs out
and the sky runs out
and we're out of time
I'll throw these heavy things down
they're carving pieces out
slowing my smile
slowing my think
they wear me so low so down
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I caught a glimpse of myself in my head in black and white. I was covered in grime and walking a straight empty road carrying something in my arms. With my head flung back and eyes shut against a high sun, I sagged.
Something I read said, look for the bones. I found them. Sometimes you've got to toss it on the page and switch it around. It won't be great, but it's better.
Now:
I walked home under a diamond sky hanging wishes on the stars, remembering South Dakota's miles of motorcycles and screaming pipes.
Then:
We crept along the trail past a marker that pointed one mile to the top of a mountain rising from Sturgis's smooth buffalo prairie. Wind tugged knotted scraps of cloth in the trees.
What are those? I asked.
Prayer satchels, he said. Relatives come and tie their wishes inside for the spirits to take.
With blades of scrub grass underfoot I let my wet hair dry in the sun, watching clouds cross a lemonade sky. A chubby girl traded her shirt for a ride with a guy, while I popped the back of my camera and threaded its film.
I stirred sugar into the heavy diner mug, stretching new chaps and sipping caffeine. Elbows on a cracked red Formica counter, I looked down the row of creased faces, gray hair combed with August wind.
Now again:
With abrupt joy moths fluttered in March's early warmth.
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Bits n Pieces again:
Some things take little bits away,
others put little pieces back.
You could be good or bad to me, and we're even.
A Little Bit
Last-forever love and stale beer cramped her gut as music raged and stupid girls romped on shitty cracked concrete. He tore at the notes alone under blue lights on fire, crazy and ripping up a song.
She's a stone behind cigarette smoke weaving What Ifs like shiny gods, thinking, he is there and she is there and maybe the night is magic. The unknown could yawn on its hinges, granting wishes at closing time.
She breaks another $20 for a beer and picks at him, stuck in her mind.
A Broken Heart Tableau
Little tapioca dreams swirled in her shot glass -- a thin layer of creamy liqueur whispering on a Kahlua pool pinched in her fingers. She was licking her lips, thinking of him.
She would get lost in a song and forget his face, but not for long. He left her a note one day, but she never told us what it said.
We have all cupped our hands around a shredded heart. I spent months staring at a field filled with Queen Anne's lace, falling leaves, sudden snow, and over again while I wondered where the bubbles went.
There was a girl in the bar with her heart on fire -- the best thing he had ever seen and she loved him until another girl's flashy smile and short skirt walked by. His eyes followed deep curves and he forgot her.
I guess this happens every day -- a thousand I love Yous dying on her face.
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Just me and my glass of wine sitting here near midnight in early March remembering her glassy eyes, swollen cherry lips, and dead hope in her heart.
