In the Black Kitchen
It begins early, arc crumbling over the yard with its salt bird baths. Then you dream of the banister gleaming, your hand from atop the stairs gripping a tiny casket. Heat gathers above the local graveyard that dusts so resolutely the young men's shoes with its flags. This is where the shadows meet the white wall. Since you were a boy you've moved unmolested right through them. But you are never alone. You are never without the crumbs your father scraped off your black toast. The whiter the appliance the rounder its corners. The reflections on the floor are cut into many small pieces. There's nowhere to hide. He keeps looking in the window at you.
From Abrupt Rural by David Dodd Lee. Copyright © 2004 by David Dodd Lee. Reprinted by permission of New Issues Poetry & Prose. All rights reserved.