---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v225) (the October 2011 Issue, You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This is also in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Up In Smoke” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

Order this writing in the book Fragments (a cc&d collection book)		get the 322 page September-December 2011 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Look, Man—

Nathan Riggs

I should have told you that your sister and I stripped
together when we were kids, in the white shed behind your house,
next to the infectious alley that smelled like blood and chalk,
where we kept the burnt mattresses that we dragged
from the curb next door and hauled upstairs to rest
with dead robins and roaches, broken bottles of Mad Dog
that we liberated from Krogers and crooked Parliament filters
that your uncle supplied on demand and with pleasure.

We stood in front of the window at the apex
that you and I used to throw rocks from at passing cars,
or shout foreign profanities at the kids
whose parents were married and had better jobs
                        —We didn’t lay.
We leaned against the wall, naked and splintered,
tall like the trees you and I would climb
so high until the air seemed so thin we’d swear
we could float past the horizon, into a world
of dragons chased by narcotic, rambling rats,
something imaginary, silent, intangible,
an extraordinary place more sacred than our own
        —we both got there, remember? No?

Ten years later, she and I talked
in a chance encounter at your uncle’s old haunt.
We didn’t mention the way we learned
words like soft, hard, wet;
or how we discovered that people taste like salt
and smell faint like milk and lemonade.

Instead we discussed how you shot yourself
in the face, the way we both imagined you would:
smirking, your boy-blond hair dyed
black and braided tight, the thick strands bound
in colorful elastic bands, clutching
the gun in your hands and a letter
addressed to your family and friends
between shattered teeth;

back against the wall,
waiting, one eye crusted,
one opened eternal, observing
the ricochet and reverberation.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...