You think you’ll still see her?
Shut up about Maggi—
You little—
more and more
as if their words were
blood splatter
the noise they made
was like huge windows
shattering to
a million
jagged pieces
in my head
stop! I said stop it!
at which her mother
flung her flashing eyes
at me
How dare you come between
My daughter and me?
How dare you!
Rachel started in among
the moving cars
my hands remembering
reached out
for her
a feeble move
all there was
was the breeze
of her not there
I know who you are!
her mother hissed
nailing me where I stood
And where you—
she gasped
the spit inside
her mouth
I know where you live.
Your father is a criminal, a jailbird.
Is that where you were born?
That garbage pit?
I stared at her
her hollow eyes
double black holes
Stay away from her!
Stay away, or I’ll call the police!
but you
I didn’t say
you
you’re the one
you hit you smacked your daughter
she’s fine if not for you
she’s good if not for you
she’s
she’s
but the woman’s eyes
had torn away
from me
she jumped into her car
which was still running
Friend Come with Me
I didn’t know what
to do with all of that
except to find where Rachel was
I saw my father’s truck
pulling into the lot
but I couldn’t stop
no matter all the jangling
up and down
my bones
I caught up
two streets later
Rachel shook me off
just walked ahead
shouting to herself
it wasn’t long before
her mother cruising
street to street found us
Get in the car!
I’m walking home—
You little—get in the car now!
Rachel ran ahead
leaving me with
her screaming-mad mother
And you!
You’ll end up in jail
Like your father!
and more like that
until the car
screeched off again
I caught up
a second time
bleeding inside from what
her mother yelled at me
but I managed
somehow to say
Rachel it’ll be okay
you won the prize
the school likes you
they want you there
you saw—
and stupidly
so stupidly
I reached I reached
thinking I guess
or no not thinking
I reached
I somehow could not
not reach for her
and slid my hand in hers
and held on tight like
on the streets before
when something snapped
she wrenched her hand away
and her blood-black eyes
ice-rimmed with red
shot back at me
and she fired this
What the hell?
Don’t touch me, you freak!
I am not your girlfriend!
and then as if
both ends of a rope bridge
had been cut so I would fall
I fell
my mouth dropped open
and I stuttered
spluttered tongue-tied
I . . . I . . . I . . .
Great comeback, Bobby.
You know what?
but she was there again
her mother
beeping beeping
what Rachel said was lost
when she sprang away
and ran to the car
leaving me alone
on the street
with no stinking idea
what
just
happened
It All Exploded
in my head
when I got home
blind and stone-eyed
the bum was at his cards
I went there to pick you up—
I hate you!
I said
I hate you all!
Whoa, what the—
did you go to jail?
somebody said you went to jail
you never told me that
but it makes sense
you lie to me
you lie every second of the day
you probably lied to me about Mom too
Yeah, well, here’s not a lie.
You’re the reason your mother left.
You’re the reason—
and suddenly my hands
were like knots
of wood on skinny stick arms
and somehow they
pulled back without me
doing it
and swung at him
one after the other
it was stupid to look at
like fighting a ghost
the first punch missed
a pathetic fly swat
but my right fist
got him square
on the jaw
my knuckles on the bone
and he slipped off
the chair and swore
and I watched
his bad leg buckle
the wrong way
to the floor
I Never Knew I Could
hit him
always the hurt of his
poor dumb old leg
stopped me
but now I knew
somehow I knew
his leg was part
of why my mother left
and maybe why she died
it had to be
so
I was hitting that
stupid leg
too
he lay helpless on the floor
and right away
(my hands were still
bunched up and ready)
I felt a hollow
in the center of my chest
unfisted my hands
and reached for him
Dad, I didn’t mean to
I had a shitty day
let me
No, you—
he swore a string of words at me
unrepeatable
even in my head
held up his shaking hand
to warn me off and slid
his bad leg awkwardly
across the floor between us
Get away from me.
worked up to his good knee
seconds and seconds
to make it that far
and holding on the chair
by its seat
hoisted up to his feet
I’ll pick myself up, you—
those words again
the worst
Pick myself up.
Pick myself . . .
but I was already
out the back
pushing through
the weeds and dew
Red Clouds
with purple undersides
were lined up
in the west
and moving fast
over the woods
in the last light
the million black
branches of
oak and ash and maple
aspen pine and birch
criss and cross
and cover you
like the ceiling
of the church
I looked up
and there it was
that pinpoint
through the mesh
of black leaves
Rachel and her mother
my mother my father
my father and me
me and whoever
I wanted to fall
into the ground
and not come up
instead I slid
to the bottom
of the slope
where the creek
flowed silver
like a splash
of shiny dimes
over the rocks
I took a step
and crossed the rocks
one by one
to
the other side
I Don’t Know Why
maybe to choose
my time
maybe to bail
if I chickened out
but when I went
up the slope
two miles plus
to the churchyard
through the stones
and markers
in the little yard
I went up
heel to toe
and foot by foot
as quiet as I could
until I came to
that little house
his lighted shed
I stood in front
of the wooden door
I stood and stared
it was cross-barred
rough-planked
with different model
hinges and
offset like
my camper doors
and gave off
a slanted
frame of light
around the edge
I stood
and stood
I stood
and when I didn’t turn
away
lifted my hand
my knuckles up
and gave the wood
four
knocks
In My Mind
I saw him shiver
in his chair
on the late
October night
so near the graves
of dead church people
his hands frozen
where they sat
one with a pen
one spread across
a sheet of paper
then turn
his wrinkled face
to the door
and wonder
if he heard
four knocks
in the first place
and would God
knock on his door
and why would he
when he
could just float in
or maybe
Death
was calling him
but then
he’d float in too
and not rise
from his chair
but stare at the door
and stare and stare
in my mind
I saw all this
it vanished
when I heard a scrape
of chair legs
on the floor and
a scuffle of shoes
and a click
and then the frame
of light I stood in
was a sudden
door of it
Ah. Ah. Robert, yes?
So late.
Come in.
Robert Lang? Bobby?
he said
You live down there.
The green house.
I didn’t know
at first how
he knew my name
or house
but he’s a priest
so he probably
had some help
yeah
yes
the little churchyard shed
wasn’t as small inside
as it looked
still cramped
but not too close
you couldn’t walk
the floor
but you could
breathe
Welcome to my quiet place.
A little house where
I think and pray.
And write.
it was a house
more house than shed
all ink and paper
only ink and paper
but everything
I guess he needed
pictures of God and Jesus
old ones sketched in ink
and pencil
tacked
