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After His Divorce Laura Sobbott Ross
for Kyle
What came out of him was red. That beard, I mean. I suppose we understood the unspoken insurrection, the way a shade of russet could teem like a thicket of wasps at the corner of his words, his young throat. All that bristling, fiery and pugnacious, risen through his pores while he shrugged and said little, studied maps of the Appalachian Trail, the blue coves of the Florida Keys. He bought a canoe, followed night’s damp currents, dressed himself in a daydream lighter than the nesting of wiry auburn against his skin. The water’s surface peeling in brackish layers from the hull, all those ragged stars breaking in the smooth circles of his oars. |
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