"This is the last straw," Alma said. She had just opened the mail at the kitchen table. Sitting opposite, Walter peered over the top of his newspaper. "What straw is that?" "It's anothe ... [+]
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.