The lights are on—freshwater flows.
Between the television and the fried chicken
lie the cigarettes floating in the bowl.
Caught in the headlamp,
married the deer slayer,
the key to true love—except she isn't.
Between the tomato plants and the Cremora™ colored coffee
lie the guns.
Bright white and impossible
kindness that doesn't mean anything kind.
If you tell me
where I can
speak and when
I can speak,
that's not freedom
of speech.
If tomato then purple bruises.
Mama's not worried.
Mama's got the magic.
Giving me eyes to view it.
“Bright White and Impossible” was printed in Tracks, No. 9 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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