Filed under: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Esme Writes, Poetry | Tags: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Esme Writes, Greenpoint, National Poetry Month
He said “I want my cornfields back”
We were nearly trashed on my back patio
surrounded by stucco
staccato shouts
annoyed spanish
We were halfway into the whisky at that point, I think,
the memory’s a bit faded
it happens
the color lifts into oven-hot summer air
from another thousand ads for dent repair and auto-insurance
the dusty testaments of Angelenos and spidery
veins driving that sluggish blood from
Glendale to my front door
We sipped Wish-key spoke low slurred a little
laid out-
midwestern daydream hazes
hidden lakes certainly now swamp mud
abandoned cul de sacs
all night parked cars
the smells
the emptiness
our bustin hearts
stretched to fill
the spaces too empty
those wide skies
glorified-
ghosts of
salt strewn highways
the creaking ropes of friends we knew
the funerals we attended
dramatic darkness
our minds empty
pulled out-
the maps rustling from glove compartments crammed
with remnants gathered
like our fathers and the farmers
bounty tucked and shoved into
the trap door that learned the contours of soles
of feet itching
for streets
for stucco
We poured ourselves some more.
the bottle clanked emptily
He said he’d like to hear one song before he’d never hear
another
He said he’d like to hear one song before his color faded
We watched my neighbor scold her son in echoing lashings
He said he’d like to hear “This Must Be The Place”
As I drained my glass the burn in my throat brought tears to my eyes.
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Esme Writes. 