TAKING THE LONG ROUTE NORTH TO A CITY OF BRICKS IN JANUARY I drove my little brother’s car over the bridge. I normally prefer to stand on a bridge, but ice scratched by children’s skates had blotted out the current of this river, my favorite river for staring. The light stayed red. The snow banks bled into the murdered grass. Every last lawn held a private fault, but the decorative statuaries continued to emote within the centuries assigned. The Romans felt indifferently toward sciences but decided their demigods should peer sternly athwart new air as though through a convex lens. The plow had destroyed one fiberstone brave, solid waves of hair crushed across the paved land. All roads led to Troy. The light changed to green. I was headed out to drink fire with the old crowd, and the warmth of their faces would soon thaw what chunks of sweetness I had salted and stored.
Newly Wild Hedgehog
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.