Tuesday, July 1, 2008

To All the Vaughan-Savages of the World


I do not remember the scent of magnolias
Nor the specific grit of sand beneath my fingernails.

But I remember when they started to tear the bridge down
with Dynamite and sentimental iron beams.

I remember the ghosts of Civil War soldiers
clashing by night before a sinking lighthouse.

The nights, so bright, and hallucinatory blackbirds
croaked as the palms' fronds groaned to be torn apart.

But he was the parking garage I could never find my way out of
And you were Vanity Fair while I wept at the House of Blues.

Fires burned in buildings above us
and the sky was purple with pollution and lamplight.

Drunk men swam naked through fountains
while the cotton stuck to our skins.

Every night was filled with peeling peaches
and the crossword clues were ones we could always solve.

1 comment:

Chris S said...

Hey, I like the poem, Kat. The line with Vanity Fair and the line about peeling peaches are good. It's great to see you writing again. Keep it up, because I always thought you were a star.