graphics mode c r o s s X c o n n e c t previous | next

| main page
| issue contents
| contributors
| e-mail us
x
c
o
n
n
e
c
t
   g a r b a g e    n i g h t

--- H E R M A N   B E A V E R S


Water stands like a lake in my eyes shining, miraculous as the elbow of God, In the hug of my family's history stalled horses stomp in my chest's dry garden tales spin off my tongue in sorry amends imagination flickers, a city far off.

I grew up watching preachers slap their thighs in emphasis. Disillusioned under the weight of sermons, words that could crack the world's fragile plaster. Women's heads turned under irreverent hats caught in the glare of riotous light.

I shiver in the weak moonlight. and remember a night years ago, when I was certain I heard footsteps below my bedroom window, as if someone meant to do me harm before I could wrestle myself to sleep I wished I could stop breathing till the threat was gone, My heart thumping against the black lid of night. With the trash safely stored at the curbside, the top on the plastic can fastened down tight to hide my secrets, I'm back inside the house. I remember to turn off the lights, check the locks, set the alarm.

And when finally I lay me down My dreams stomp across America garbage documenting my place in the world, the scabs of my prayers trembling in the wind

© crossconnect 1995-2002 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |