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4/28/81: Mobile, Alabama Stephen Gardner
At night the curtains blow in like arms To wrap me in motel gauze made soft By passing cars and streetlamps. The frayed hems Trace across my lashes, a mating of spiders In ivory light. Last night I had a lingering Dream. Tonight I cannot sleep at all. When the TV dulled to hiss and snow I saw my father's face, connecting the dots, Roll down the screen. He never lost that boyish Grin, big teeth and thin lips; then his eyebrows And bald top slid to hiss again. The secret, I heard him say, don't tell the secret To anyone. Late-born and only child, I swear I'll never tell. If you'll tell me, old man, If you'll tell me. And then a northbound truck Was all I heard, its headlights on the curve Cutting through the curtain's web into the room. I pushed the button off and bounced on the springs. We never lose our hair like men. Eyebrows, Though, they thicken before they fall away. Now mine are growing thin. My smile is firm But never was as innocent as his. I take What arms I care to hold, or need. That's all. Receive, receive is what I do. Originally published in The Devil's Millhopper
and This Book Is For Eva (Palanquin Press) |
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