Friday, April 13, 2018

NaPoWriMo



 Day Eleven

Mama’s intention was to have more children, maybe at first just to
replace the baby boy who died, and then with a new boy, the need for
a girl came to light. I’ve always wanted one of each, she said, and then
I came along, A fast child wanting to pop out in the backseat of the yellow
cab that Mama and I took to the hospital. And Daddy, she told me later,
wasn’t in that cab, nor did he give us a ride in his Silver Eagle, because he
was on the road, the driver of a big rig that I have no recollection of, but
in my made-up story, I see it parked outside the house and Mama climbing
a little ladder because the cab sat far off the ground. Up and in she and her
big belly went and off to the hospital, Daddy honking that big semi horn 
all the way there. With an adventure like that, there was no need to start
life in the back of a cab. I wanted anyway, to make my mother happy, so I 
waited.  


Day Twelve.

The mountains are bare, like they’ve forgotten
to dress this morning, the flesh in a
high crease, folding seductively, the waist
bends to wrinkle and crease where
shade becomes prominent, brush growing
in damp areas.

First one brown hill, then
another devoid of trees

Waxed smooth each morning


Day Thirteen

Two Birds Fly, One Hits the Window

We are in a wind   a big blow   knocking furniture
across the back porch    the sky gray-black    the sound of a truck, a plane     a freight train once when the wind hit 90     miles per hour is high  and so the birds fly willy-nilly on gusting currents     meanwhile a solar wind blows down through the atmosphere    clocking our hearts at a sensational speed    their rhythm and our minds race    sleep evades us    the rustling whistling wind alters trajectory    it is always ringing bells and busting heads   moving fast around corners  I say    birds sit tight    your fellow has fallen

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