THE YELLOW SCAR the skin is green ripe and overgrown stripped razed and cleared it browns and begins to whiten here are the houses and the school. here is the church and the ceremony. here are the tanks and the banners fire and bullets pock mark the skin flesh and blood soak the soil houses are abandoned silence slowly the land breaks and the roots and branches bloom in the sun bursting and a breeze pushes the flora and fauna like unkempt hairs put in place the yellow scar is the only keepsake and a hand brushes over it feeling no pain CAR FIRE the clouds are thin a lace cloth stretched over a blue table he pulls out what he can brushing off the soot chipping at the char covering everything inside the car from the fire moving quickly piling all that is salvageable into a small stack in the weeds dirty skin and a tattoo of the virgin mary across his back the tow truck pulls up to take the remains he crouches down near the driver side door and lights a cigarette looking over his shoulder at what is left of his possessions waving his hand at the driver as the car is towed to the yard he stands in the middle of a halo black and white rimmed stubbing his cigarette out in the asphalt sun 2:59PM staring at them in their lazy agitation books pressed to their breasts eyes searching cars passing honk smile wave hair trailing like streamers music blasting legs pumping doors opening she picked at the grass picked at her scab she picked at her nose shirt stained brace correcting her scoliosis creaks nosily they were off to their boys their sticky fumblings her hair greasy covers her eyes as they all go home JIM Marion and Jim lived in a pink house next door to me Jim dressed in a white t-shirt tucked into black slacks hair white and trim combed with military precision their lawn edged and green a hobby he worked at with detail and exactitude Inside their house my only memory is as dim as the lighting in their living room. After Jim died, Marion married Jim's brother whose name I do not remember only that the lawn fell into disrepair turning brown with patches of dirt, islands in a dead sea they moved after a couple of years and three families lived in the pink house next door then painted brown in the summer I sat in the garage smoking and reading the new neighbor from Guatemala walked up the driveway to say hello we sat across from one another smoking and talking about Schubert's piano sonatas his new speakers and his side job as a DJ for parties I nodded the sun went down and the bulb in the garage and the occasional flick of a lighter keep two neighbors company Saints in Fashion saints in fashion
mingle about the hall of the white tower to herald their martyrdom van dykes and pipe smoke choke the room fire from below bellows and the sound of the water wheel churning rhythmically fusing with the horse cart plodding down the dirt road and the madmen standing on their pedestals testifying that the apocalypse is close at hand to the men and women shopping in the plaza that cannot hear the string quartet readying to perform Schubert for the soldier lying on a table behind a cotton screen as the amputation commences he bites down on a leather strap to muffle the screams as to not alarm the dinner party in the adjacent room and the guests in their fineries speaking of the contemporary trends in microbiology and the simplest method to remove stains from white linen
0 Comments
|
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed