A Woman Named Thucydides
Having slept in a turnout in the backseat of her car, she awoke before dawn, shivering, hungover, unsure of where she was. To her surprise, the sodium lights on the billboard she had parked beside were no longer on. Wind gusts, the smell of rain, the raw, unbroken landscape like a field of ice. If this had been a movie, someone would've been sitting up front, someone who held her fate in his hands. Though she couldn't see them, she could hear birds passing overhead. Why do they even bother to cross so vast and empty a space? At the moment, none of the usual explanations made sense. Her head ached, her feet were cold, she couldn't find the words. And the man up front, what did he think? What would he do? Must something still happen before the end?
From The Intricated Soul: New and Selected Poems by Sherod Santos. Copyright © 2010 by Sherod Santos. Used by permission of W.W. Norton.