Jennifer Lynn Utterback
Dreaming About the Car PRIVATE
I didn't want to park there,
but he made me. We walked for
miles to the water fountain,
which we sloshed through, to
enter the hotel.
Arriving in the lobby, dry as
a martini, we helped ourselves
to a room key. We chose a
great room, a VIP suite with
a mirrored floor.
After a night of kinky, safe sex,
we got dressed and rollerskated
downstairs. We strolled
through the water fountain, got
drenched and hiked to the car.
It was ruined! All the windows
smashed, the rag top torn and
changed to fuchsia; the radio was
still there, but not the steering
wheel.
My Brother's Death PRIVATE
(February 22, 1969, at birth)
Stumbling about in the knee-
high grass and prickly weeds,
I come to a clearing that
cradles your coffin.
Your minute, solitary
tombstone sits in the
center, among the vast
and gorgeous monuments.
Hundreds of grass blades
blown about by the mowers stick
to the stone like a toddler
to his mother's leg,
obscuring your name, Nicholas.
The face of the angel laying
on top of the stone is worn,
beaten and strained,
like mother's on your birthday
every year. She told me about
your birth/death day, and how
she wishes she knew you.
I love you, dear brother, and
part of me wishes you were here,
but the other part knows that if
you were I might not be.