Tuesday, February 13, 2007

"long trail."
//david mcnayr

returning to the bank of the river
father waiting heating up
the butane stove texas chili,
two men and one woman
québécois muffled between
snapping broken twigs,
rustling leaves, chickadee songs.

one of them keeps a small guitar
wrapped in styrofoam and cardboard
but there is no music.
they only string up lines
of laundry, from the cabin
to the nearby tree trunks
and play a few card games.

my father's snores, lying
on the thin polystyrene mat
over the uneven planks,
make for uneasy slumber;
but how thankful i am
awake at the rising dawn
the pale soft light against

the french woman's back
changing into her day clothes
the liberty of her narrowing waist
and gracious modesty of her breasts
tucked under her hands
facing the cabin wall
no more reason to sleep.


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