2.

 

she’s

 

the kind of town

that sells alcohol

on sundays                 now

 

 

freight train

white noise

burnt prairie

 

chucks rocks

at boxcars

 

under-track crick

run roadbound

 

:           disposable earplugs

     big toads

     very small toads

     medium-size toads

 

skates empty

in the church

parking lot

 

the abandoned

plastick manufacturing

factory parking lot

 

take me there someday           won’t you

 

*

 

retelling

 

He says it first,   during

a quiet   moment. She

looks   up from her

work, breath   caught

on the edge of his

words, eyes   caught

on the edge of his

gaze, insides unraveling

a little. They rest here

for a quiet moment   before

she returns   her hands to

the tools   on the table,

mallet conducting a

tangible   tap

tap

tap

tap

across the thick studio air.

 

She says it second,   during

a quiet   moment, moments

later.   He

looks   up from his

book, breath   belatedly

released,   chest

echoing the mallet’s steady

tempo,   tap

tap

tap

tap

until she   stops

and smiles.