It's 11.9 miles to Mardela Springs. The public school's a left away from the town which is too small to be called a town. Past the school and heading south is a road which immediately kisses country, a large pond there with a house beside it. The shadows in the fall morning make a wind beside the house. The students are tired. It's Monday. It doesn't seem to matter what day, most of the time they're tired. In the early fall dark the road whispers to the pond. "Amends." School is out, no one hears. In 216 the janitor replaces a fluorescent light. He drops a screw from ten steps up. The school is so quiet it hears the drop. The school and the road begin their talk. Soon the pond joins in. "Amends."
I think I was on a balcony overlooking the whole thing. --Yusef Komunyakaa "April Fool's Day" No soon, no hard loan, no geometric woodwork to make you feel at home. No soap, no anonymous bourbon, no portrait or copy of a portrait painted by some writer or star or family member or any other-than-artist person. No short drop (you were fifteen floors up), no secret way out, no voice of self-hatred (which you are at least used to). No past tense. Sometimes no tense at all. Sometimes not even an all or nothing. Sometimes not even a real estate dream, not even a frame, not even a framework. A balcony but not a back kitchen porch. A woman hanging out her laundry but not hanging out. Railroad tracks and motor- cycle gang around the corner but not a ticket or a destination. Not even the sense of a weird dead end. Not a lemon or a sun. No children. No stories about children, no crooked arrow. No ghost named Leslie or Vallejo. No C. No M. No J.