The last time I saw my father he was wearing a toupee that looked like a year's worth of dryer lint, a worn-out Carolina t-shirt, the blue almost white now, green golfing shorts, and penny loafers ... [+]
Originally published in Folio
I'll never forget us
entraining this freight at dusklight
to escape cabbage farms, rusted barns,
and Bible-barkers who stumble
through starrified nights.
Will our fear follow us?
We poach peaches off pallets
and lick juicedrips off our lips,
like it's all we know,
on the road to salvation—
me, carving a heart into the wood
and you, a miracle
in the moonshine, grabbing hold
of my trembling hand
like maybe we're something holy.
entraining this freight at dusklight
to escape cabbage farms, rusted barns,
and Bible-barkers who stumble
through starrified nights.
Will our fear follow us?
We poach peaches off pallets
and lick juicedrips off our lips,
like it's all we know,
on the road to salvation—
me, carving a heart into the wood
and you, a miracle
in the moonshine, grabbing hold
of my trembling hand
like maybe we're something holy.