Proving Grounds, The

Homesteading

83 homesTeAding I can talk about these things because it’s different now, You in your tee shirts studded with welding sparks, Tiny holes from pricks of heat, your long Piano fingers like wires behind ivories Slightly calloused as you wash our daughter’s hair, Tip her back in the bath like something holy, Use your weight to help her float. Last night I dreamed I was skateboarding with a friend Down some paved-over park trail like the ones That criss-crossYellowstone, endless And relentless like cigarette burns, The scar stiff and shiny, and she left me out there All alone on that dark road to go attend The wedding of another friend, someone I didn’t know, and then I called you. The phone rang and rang and when I got the machine That was the first shock: instead of your voice It was the voice of another, someone strange. I rushed home and the quiet was heavy And it slashed me in the face Before the packed suitcases, absent wooden cartons Of all your Iggy Pop CD’s, spaces swept clean Of our daughter’s bright toys, could sink in And in the dream I start some sound Like nothing human, so loud I wake. ...