Thu, 19 May 2005

An Illuminated Bone-Sadness
She didn’t know how to drive but was good at pretending she knew where she was going, good enough to trick me though I wanted to be tricked; I thought if I got lost with her I could keep her with me long enough to finish my wooing song and would have every plan I ever cobbled come true like a Christmas sunrise. She wasn’t supposed to be drinking but she was drinking and I wasn’t drinking and that normally would have made me testy but here it was just a necessity. We would drive and drive and pull over and fuck in big empty harvested fields over a palimpsest-stained sheet my grandmother had given me just before she died, in the just-dewing grass beneath apple trees which she would pronounce apfel betraying deutsch old enough to crust over with nostalgia-sweetness, jumping up to grab at the fruit as though I needed an excuse to watch her movement in the starlight. We lived on that strange cappuccino you get from rest-stop machines which is more like the memory of cappuccino formulated by scientist-chefs locked underground trying to bring back the things which had surrounded them in their better days. The entire time we were on the road she didn’t cry once, and when we reached the road where she lived now (which was faraway from where I lived) I pretended like I couldn’t see it. Or maybe I really couldn’t see it. When she lifted her head away from mine after she had kissed me she left a hair on my coat, which I tied around my ringfinger and told myself I would never lose, but eventually I did.
(12:06.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #