“I have stacks to the sky”
I had a dream of driving down a dark and slick road and running into a ditch. I got out and stopped traffic – looking at two yellow orbs that resembled alien eyes or 2 moons. Is this the direction toward San Francisco? No – and I knew the answer. There is no going back to the past or the way it was.
Dark purple violets with yellow eyes grew outside the wooden white painted house where the accidental death happened. Rain pouring into the gutter and then the gravel had the sound of a fast river to the ear of a child. The gunshot when Hugh aimed the rifle at the garter snake in the backyard proved he was angry, and I had better be quiet. He accused me of not being stupid, and that was his last words before putting me in the back seat of the car and driving to Alabama.
The wooden desks with the tops that open where you kept books and pencils with gum stuck underneath in case the teacher caught you chewing, no, not me. You sat on your hands when the coach called you out on the court to play ball and you ran out the door.
Love is not an emotion I find out. I must be broken into pieces and be destroyed by fire – really.
