Wild+Onions+and+Light+Poems


 * Light**

I could write a poem that no one could tell was for you. It would be about Jack Daniels in a sweating glass, a plate of wings, and a crumpled dollar bill we were saving for the jukebox; I’d describe the smell of your cigarette, the way you’d squint and clench your jaw when you’d exhale— of swatting flies on putting greens and of slick forest roads frozen into the black ink of January. I could write about a backyard pool, a drunken night, broken promise, and a photo of you, holding your wife at the bottom of your glove compartment:

the edge of the cruise ship, fingers entwined, eyes turned toward the setting sun.