Sunday morning, 5am, 1986

Sunday morning, 5am, 1986

He woke us to stumble to the truck, or he didn’t.
He carried us, blanket swaddled, our limbs loose,
all elbows, all bones and lolling heads. He lay us
against one another in the backseat. No matter

how gently we were left there, the growl and smog
of the diesel engine would wake us, send us to look
out the back window. We could see in that orange-
blue light
how the truck, how the boat hitched behind it how the two of us
and our father sitting in the front seat
were all standing still. How the signs shot past us,
how houses ambled. Barns, trees, animals,
joggers: all of these passed at variant rates.

We made a game of counting the seconds between
power-line posts mailboxeslawnstatues culverts
we charted their velocities. The sun would rise

changing the game’s electricity into a lullaby,
and as we slept, faces hot, sweating, we began to move
and the world would stand still again.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

One response to “Sunday morning, 5am, 1986

  1. analyticali

    This one was wonderful. In a really good way, it took me to warmth and Ohio and America on a day when all of that feels far away. If it’s even slightly autobiographical, then I can picture the characters too, and that’s wonderful. (stupid poetry reading people accusing you of being too personal, re jan. 2nd)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s