|CAR AND SKY|
On the way home from willowy Edinboro, PA
I spoke with
the beaming blue sky,
The deathless road winding around the voluptuous
I spoke with Maria, about when she had her
wisdom teeth taken out, first kisses, our
favorite Will Oldham tunes,
how our birthdays were exactly six months apart, and
the time her
cousin raped her when she was only fourteen.
She said it in a "since
we're good friends there is something I want to tell you"
It was an ambiguously sad story, one so personal it was pale and
taut like the skin
that joined her hips
An hour later, pieces of the
story were scattered all about the car, like chopped
parts of an
I remember her lips, they stretched and bled as
she told me that her parents
"wouldn't have wanted to put up with the
Why do you think that?
But I couldn't.
I just listened.
I just listened to the problem, the bloody pieces, that I didn't want
put up with
Isn't this something you should tell your boyfriend,
or your sister?
We tried to discuss other things (i.e. her rivalry with
nature, with primary colors)
Sometimes I spoke . . . not so
"The sky today," she said, "is perfect"
Maria pointed to
statues that were preserved, time-honored in ice; and gardens that
not trampled or ruined
Maybe, there will be a day, when I will have the
strength to speak like a real man,
not a scattered man.
will say, "is perfect."