In college I cut my hair
boy short, you noticed
and saw value
in inadvisable decisions.
At night we would center
ourselves on a half mattress,
meant for a sofa bed,
on the floor.
Your mother bought
us a new bed. Handmade
beautiful honey pine. A year later
the soft wooden slats began
to buckle, one by one.
We held up the mattress
with stacks of books.
Our car stalled in a blizzard.
In the middle of nowhere.
This didn’t really happen.
We left the car and decided
to find our way. Soon frostbite
set in. Parts started to numb
and fall off. We couldn’t go on.
Years later we found each other
at a house party.
The music was too loud
so we went into a quiet room,
to talk. The whole time
we couldn’t get over
the fact that we were
at a party together.
I still have the bed.
Now attached to a metal frame
and painted white.
The party is over.
I wasn’t allowed to leave
the premises. Your new wife
razed the house with me
still in it. The last thing
I saw was you hopping
into the oncoming bulldozer
in order to escape another blizzard.
RESURRECTION mag 