Everglades, 1999

Everything is wet, even my face, fanned
by my futile hands. We're lost,
but we've plenty of alcohol--

the inaugral fight of this vacation
centered on where to stow the whiskey
and how much ice to bring.

Since then, we've fought about everything.

For hours, I've studied
every detail of his back,
his straight spine, the movement
of his shoulders under his thin black shirt,

when not even the tangled
fishing line in the bottom
of the boat could hold us together.

I'm angry at the lonely sounds
of water dripping off the end
of my paddle, the hiss and pop
of beer cans, the scrape
of his wooden oar against our canoe.

I ignore the birds.
I let my oar drag in the wake.




I Will Die in Florida When the Orange Blossoms Freeze

Trailers get cold and winters in Florida get to freezing.
I will die in a cold, drafty room, a heater on my feet.
The noisy whir of the fan will be heard outside.
Who can bear the thought of her toes turning blue?

If I am lucky, a son or daughter will rise to smoke
a good brand of cigarette,
and reach down to pat my dog with trembling hands.

A day lasts only as long as you remember it.
Today, I cleaned twelve bathrooms; tomorrow more.
Hands up to my elbows in shit and always there's more.

Sometimes I think of disappearing.

When I die, it will be a Monday, ash-grey, and wintry.
There will be no snow, but the orange blossoms will be ruined.
I'll be covered with an electric blanket.
Samantha's new telephone will ring and Roy will say, She's gone.
They'll get breakfast and cry into their waffles
at the diner on 441.




The Summer of Her Twenty-first Year

The twelve-paned windows in this room
mocked her with their age.
If only you knew what we know, they said.
They refused to be scraped, or painted, or tamed.
One made a nice headboard for their bed.
She'd bring in gladiolas and gardenias.
He'd arrange them in water on the chest of drawers
while she read The Awakening.

Old house, when will you burn to the ground?
You've heard prayers meant for nobody's ears.
The nursery on the right was painted
how many shades of blue?
She broke her antique set of china here;
the wispy dandelion seeds, floating in the air,
were finally forced to rest.
She turned another key and walked away.

She's gone. The moon would fall in the window
now, bathing an empty room, low branches
gaurding the roof. Knots in the pine floor
would chill her feet. Crystal knobs on the heavy doors
reflect the spectral glow.