Estranged (Out West)
She broke the everywhere flat
by interpretive dance, saying
“this time I’ve got a good one,
no, really–”
until he pulled to the side
of emptiness
and she jumped up, lay down, flailed,
a complex choreography enacting eggs
scrambled or banana smoothies
under construction.
He never could guess
that her collapse in two
showed the cracking,
her arches her unpeel,
the quiver (frying)
the whirl (time
in the blender)
but as the gravel poked warmth
into her bare
feet, arms, he would
laugh at last,
his throat echoing
the rough swish
of her movement,
all that could be heard in that desert
except the tick of the engine;
you know how cars do that sometimes,
after they’ve stopped.
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Another very drafty poem for some day of April National Poetry Month. I am linking this one to Shanyn’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub about road trips.
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