the one she drew
I took it from my coat
and sat up
and stared at it
it stared right back
like it was a mirror
but not the kind of mirror
that showed outside
this one
this one
showed inside enough
for me to almost
not hate this kid
to almost like
this
boy
then the light went off
shut off
just died
I clicked and clicked
the table lamp
tightened the bulb
replugged the cord
but the dark
wouldn’t go away
I punched
the pillows
tried to settle down
stayed an hour
in the dark
maybe longer
then unwired the doors
and stormed
across the yard
checking the cords
along the way
until I was inside
in the dark
with only one
stupid candle lit
and him
propped like a dummy
a ghost in clothes
in his chair
his jaw pink
from my knuckle punch
You ungrateful little shit.
I should wallop you
Or turn you in, you bastard—
why don’t you?
then I could
go to jail too
Just sit.
no
Sit down.
I had a stupid day
Sit.
there’s no power in the bus
it just died
where’s the cord?
he followed it with his eyes
to behind the chair
Sorry.
which is a word
he never used
he bent and plugged
it in and in the yard
the camper windows
lit an amber light
I’m sleeping in the bus
he looked up at me
I’m . . .
I said
sorry I’m sorry
You’re not.
I hated hitting you
anyway that’s all
I’m going out
No, that’s what I wanted . . .
What I need to talk about
The camper.
it’s mine
It’s not yours.
it’s mine
It’s neither of ours
Look. Sit. Let me tell you.
I Was Too Tired to Run
it all leaked out of me
in the quiet
in the room
in the minutes
that came then
him sitting
in his half-stuffed
half-unstuffed
easy chair
shifting his leg
nursing his jaw
with the cold side
of a warm beer
me like a sparrow
rocking
on the bench
by the window
anger swimming
in me but
slowly slowly
swimming off
to somewhere
else
and then I thought
the candlelight was
so I wouldn’t see
how hard I’d really hit him
how I’d hurt him
and my chest tightened up
and I choked down
something
but he looked up at me
the flame was low
between us
little sphere of light
round pale moon
shading half
the shadow of his face
and while the pus-white
wax pooled to the rim
of the saucer
the sad black wick like
some last man standing
he used his words
Your Mother
It was hers before,
Long before,
That old camper,
Before we even knew
Each other.
he stuttered this
not looking at me
or anywhere
You won’t remember this,
But when there were three
Of us,
You, me, and your mother,
That camper was our world.
his words hung
in the room
held in the dwindling
moon of light
at the center of the table
You were, what,
Not even one? Not six months?
Yeah, this is just before . . .
Well, before I went in.
went in
went in
so her angry mother
was right
it had never been more quiet
than it was then
his voice a whisper
of heels in gravel
We drove all over
The west, you laughing or
Talking baby talk
With her in the back
And her pretending
She knew what you meant.
Or both of you in front,
Mommy navigating,
Map in one hand, your
Bottle in the other.
my arms and legs and neck
no longer rocking
were cased up
in a flesh of ice
I couldn’t move
as if spies tapped our
windowpanes
and tried our doors
and any movement
would betray
and mean our death
I was so still
Idaho and Montana,
Down to Utah,
Colorado next,
Then Texas.
She loved those places.
She was from out there, the west.
That’s big country
Out there.
Not like here.
And light.
You can’t believe how big
Light can be.
the words
his words
as if he’d never spoken
words before
as if these were the first
like Him who spoke
at the beginning
and things became
things
trees wind moon
She had the reddest hair.
I don’t know why you don’t.
You got my tangly wire.
red hair red hair
and she was suddenly
there with us
like the first stars
must have appeared
so
so how
why did I
make her leave?
You didn’t.
You didn’t.
God, Bobby, you didn’t.
I was just . . . I don’t know.
I lied. I lie.
You remind me of me.
And that’s what I don’t like.
Not you. Me.
a long break
of no words
with just the flame
swaying with
his breath
our breaths
What happened was . . .
I was young. She was young.
Too young.
We had nothing of our own but that camper.
When you came, we practically lived in it.
Driving all over, trying to make it last.
It couldn’t last. She loved big country,
But I had family here. Some.
We got this place. She tried but hated it
And wanted to go west again.
We fought. A lot.
I answered that by drinking. Got in bad fights.
It’s stupid how you know you’re wrecking yourself
but you do it anyway. I stole a car.
Not even a good one, a crap piece of junk.
For the money. Of course I was caught.
Six months.
You were five months old, I guess,
When I went in.
It was hard for her with me inside.
You were a sick little baby.
Ear infections. Bronchitis. Pneumonia once.
my tea bag lungs
When I finally got out, you were in the hospital.
You’d be in there for a week, she said.
Asshole that I was, I got drunk right off
And blamed her for not taking care of you.
Can you freaking believe that? Me blaming her.
We fought. Money. You. Me.
Fighting on the deck for everyone to see.
And then one night I . . .
here it is
it’s coming
you what—
I went off my head.
Blood boiling. Eyes twitching like crazy.
My hand, my hand, I went to smack her
Or, I don’t know, it looked like I would . . .
Her face.
Her beautiful face . . .
The face I loved so much.
I felt it on my face
whether he did or not
not freezer-cold like
Rachel’s mother’s slap
but blood-pumping hot
She backed away from me
Like a ghost.
I begged her, but
She ran out and drove away.
I sat in this hole waiting for her,
Cursing myself to hell.
I knew how stupid I’d been.
All I wanted was to tell her I was sorry,
Tell her I would never
Ever . . .
he was back there
shaking in his mind
for a long
few minutes
Then the police called.
She’d had an accident.
Five miles from here.
She was coming back.
a shiver went
from my feet
to my scalp
an accident in the camper?
in the camper?
but I already knew
the windshield gone
the headlights smashed and gone
the body battered lifeless
I started to cry
he was crying too
I got so drunk, out of my mind,
Crawling around, I fell off the freaking deck.
Broke my leg in three places.
Cracked my spine.
You were in foster care
For a month before
They let me bring you home.
the room grew smaller
as the flame went down
neither of us wanting
to move to turn on a light
So that’s the mess.
The whole mess.
That’s why I’ve been the bum
Raising you for the last fifteen years.
You see how that’s worked out.
with that he blew out
a long breath
quivering the last
moments of flame
my tongue moved
in the cold dry cave of my mouth
did she
paint
stars on the ceiling
of the bus?
he sobbed out
a hurt wet noise
I helped her do that. It was
