Monday, August 2, 2010

fort adams.

did you hear about the elephants,
they sang and i did, i saw
them in those hills when the notes
swelled and i saw the green green
grass in those hills and the sure stone and
those hands that built us up rock
by steady rock in the summertime
beneath straining
sun. in the hotel room, did you notice
the smoke flooding my veins, did you
notice the way my hands
braided my hair that you later
touched like feathers in between the
passing headlights, the brink of
august at its finest.

i fell in love with the way that man
played the accordion, the way he made it
whoosh and breathe, each note like a gill
filtering sunlight and oxygen and
our back against the stone on the hill
beneath moons inside castles in the country,
the way the mud caked our backs and smelled
like raw earth. all of that i saw
as he moved the way
a man should move, pushing life
through an accordion.

did you notice how they climbed with
their sneakers and their cigarettes to the small
crevices and windows in the great fort? how
i let the notes and the talk of elephants
and Home wash over my raised hands and travel
down the skin of my arms, how i danced as if
it was my last hour to feel
solid ground and sweat on my brow? did you notice
how i tried to find you beneath your sunglasses
and the freckles on my nose and
the smoke between my lips and in your hair so
salty from the sweat and the sun and the grit,
did you notice how they were like
Jesus in a tent, how we all bowed down on our knees
how her mascara collected in beautiful black
rivers across her cheeks.

how i tried to feel you between the bed sheets
and the oyster dreams, and the gin
and the tambourines beating joy and red
red ribbons.

i bit my tongue into the headlights when
i wanted to tell you goodbye.

fort adams watched the cellos and saw them
the way i did, how they curled their
necks into the wind, their notes like
tiny tragedies and petals falling to
floors, their oak bodies saved between
knee cradles. i picked the grass up
between my fingers and watched you
walk away in the afternoon of lullabies.


-writing was inspired by Saint Stephen's End by the Felice Brothers.

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