Saturday, October 04, 2003
Sprtel
You died alone, on a cold, dark highway,
While we opened folded clothes and drapes,
removed rubberbands from newspapers,
or slept.
The priest forgot your name,
a blessing made from fake faith,
the woman in front of me,
long brown hair fanning out,
reminding me of
prom queens and leadership.
I think of your river water
and dipped girls,
sinister smiles
that no one saw,
the loneliness of memorization
staved off on a bicycle
stripped for speed,
a stress fracture you walked away from,
leaving us in weather,
our words to ourselves.
I watched you struggle under the heat that day,
your arms twisted and jagged,
everything we learned thrown down,
like the bodies drawn away by ambulance,
not so different than
bodies in church,
strangers in prayer,
hand in hand.
While we opened folded clothes and drapes,
removed rubberbands from newspapers,
or slept.
The priest forgot your name,
a blessing made from fake faith,
the woman in front of me,
long brown hair fanning out,
reminding me of
prom queens and leadership.
I think of your river water
and dipped girls,
sinister smiles
that no one saw,
the loneliness of memorization
staved off on a bicycle
stripped for speed,
a stress fracture you walked away from,
leaving us in weather,
our words to ourselves.
I watched you struggle under the heat that day,
your arms twisted and jagged,
everything we learned thrown down,
like the bodies drawn away by ambulance,
not so different than
bodies in church,
strangers in prayer,
hand in hand.
