Friday, January 14, 2011

"Junctions" by Heather Rounds

Deer sprawled across the junctions of a state the shape of a broken heart. Point where the Blue Ridges poke and the birds are urgent, no stars, no moon over this roadway, nothing much kicking through. At rest stops we are small incidents.

When we left her this morning she was squeaking around her pulpy brown garden, picking at a berry bush, wearing too little. There may have been blankets of snow the moment we drove away.

In the rearview mirror, the road keeps expanding and we quietly acknowledge that by now we've been replaced by the teabags we left soaking through paper towels on the coffee table. By now we are not part of the true order of things.

Heather will be performing her work at WORMS on January 19.

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