the long distance conversations between old friends; the tight chests speeding to ER; the remissions, the reprieves. Think of the gleaming limos with the doomed wedding couples, the skeleton inside the ones who will stand alone at the graveside some day hence. Think of the measureless weight of fog, beams of headlights, screech of brakes; the pavement buckling in so many places, knuckling under tons of timber, tomatoes, oil. There have been holy men who said Believe and the roads will end in joy— Sometimes at night I swear I hear the soft shoulders weeping, the deathless potholes crying out.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Ruby Crowned Kinglet Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)