True Story

Did you know that above the clouds it is always sunny?
When I tell you this it seems impossible.
But it is true,
I swear.

There is always another way

Would you pack up and move to a winter house with me?
It would be a bleak spot on the map
that we would plant and bury
There would be a broken fire
and for months nothing but
smoke would
mark our presence.

There would be so much to do.
It's always that way
when you start
There would be work in the back forty
and probably in the front, too
Fences, sheds, bridges, towers,
any architecture
we imagine
we would build
It would just be us
but that would be OK
since help is rarely what it seems.

I would not stop you from going outside alone.
I would stand at the window
with my gun
vigilant
You would never get lost like before
At dusk you would return
I would take off your boots
count your blue toes
and make you home.

This would be a temporary fugue.
One day the lights
never noticed dark
would turn on
The doors would open
The air would rush in
All the friends we forgot we had
would walk up the path
and call our lost names.

Balestrate

Sicily smells like salt. At dusk the small men climb out of their cabinets and put their hands in their pockets, heading for the square under the statue to wait for their dinner.

One Way

She silently mouths a conversation alone against the window. Her breath fogs the glass. In the story, he says different things, flatters her decision, it's going as planned.

Some Numbers

It's Friday afternoon so everyone in first class is drinking. It's free but that's not really the point. These people are used to free, or at least they're used to ignoring concerns of less than ten dollars. When they drink is more important than why. Or how much. On my last trip a man next to me had three gin and tonics. It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday. The flight lasted seventy-five minutes. He was in his late sixties, dressed impeccably, tweed, a tie with a clip. At the end of the flight, entering final descent, he opened a folder filled with pages of numbers aligned in precise columns. He flipped the pages quickly and sighed. After a minute he closed everything and turned outside as the brown grass of the flat edge of Detroit filled the window.

Jasmine Revolutions

First Tunisia, then Egypt, then Libya
and on it went.
Each week, more news from other places
another necessary collapse
a sour tasting spring
littered with endings.
Time felt backwards
and as the snow called itself
to return to the sky
and the earth puddled
in mirages
she grew younger,
slowly,
recklessly,
suspicious
of what whisp of winter
remained hidden in the desert.

Flocks

Thick, eager birds
wait on flamingo legs.
A silent cue.
One recoils in a pause,
violently pursues the sky.