Thoughts of Tucson
in a small room.
A freezing rain begins to fall.
I placed my trust in divinity to act
and fell from
the face of the world.
There is a mysterious art to it.
The room has a window
and a door
and the walls are a light brownish green.
I feel like I could live here.
There are names on a list
and ice now on the glass.
Unbalanced I start a fire
in the propane heater
and begin to feel warm and loose
At the sink I pour another vodka tonic.
The names on the list are blurry
and I wonder who wrote them.
What they are for.
What it means.
The radio station plays early twentieth century
and I don’t have the heart to change it.
I have two weeks…
Little birds shelter in the branches outside.
It is nice in the country when the
farm fields are empty.
Ribbons tied to a school’s chain link fence
flutter and whip in the wind.
I think of Tucson
and a golden sun
into the desert
as I set a flame to a corner of the list
and watch as the fire burns it to ash in a bowl.
I like to think I freed them
those whose names were on the list
but the acrid smell
left in the air speaks