When the Huns show in March, two towers of light are shining from Heaven into their yard. Under our eyes, by glow of moon and cigarettes, they settle. Three Hunlings, including slight Mario, flit in and out of tall red-veined, broad-leafed plants which wintered well, which the Huns don’t cut. They don’t mind dead-end street or sneakers dangling on telephone cable. By cigarette glow they grill meals, spear burnt animal slab. I blind my window.
In school my teachers motif, You’re behind, Catch up. At home I make my sister bury me under coats. I want to fossilize.
Easter, I throw out Ikea-bagged garbage, stand under the Huns’ windows, trumpet, Mrs. Greenwood! She leans out. Shy, I almost blurt that wind’s snatched pants off her line. She’d go check even if she’d not hung any. Mrs. Greenwood, I repeat. Her cigarette falls. I stomp it out. She opens the door smoking another between painted lips, teeth like shacks falling into each other. I sit on the offered mammoth couch. Time to walk Mario, she sighs. Otherwise he can’t fall asleep. Read him stories, I say. She doesn’t know how.
She ties Mario’s shoes. His nose leaks. He’s in yellow for quicker spotting. She watches from the balcony, chides him: Hood off! Rain helps you grow. Mario and I ram into the towers but hit plants. His sneaker-heels flicker. From there I see the light shining into my yard. Its soil is with child, with tulips.
03.11.02
In school my teachers motif, You’re behind, Catch up. At home I make my sister bury me under coats. I want to fossilize.
Easter, I throw out Ikea-bagged garbage, stand under the Huns’ windows, trumpet, Mrs. Greenwood! She leans out. Shy, I almost blurt that wind’s snatched pants off her line. She’d go check even if she’d not hung any. Mrs. Greenwood, I repeat. Her cigarette falls. I stomp it out. She opens the door smoking another between painted lips, teeth like shacks falling into each other. I sit on the offered mammoth couch. Time to walk Mario, she sighs. Otherwise he can’t fall asleep. Read him stories, I say. She doesn’t know how.
She ties Mario’s shoes. His nose leaks. He’s in yellow for quicker spotting. She watches from the balcony, chides him: Hood off! Rain helps you grow. Mario and I ram into the towers but hit plants. His sneaker-heels flicker. From there I see the light shining into my yard. Its soil is with child, with tulips.
03.11.02
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