All Quiet On Sara's Side of the Bed |
Published in 'Til I'm Blue In The Face 2000 |
in the mattress where Sara used to sleep, making a zag with her body like a bolt of pale lightning to lie beside in the dark, dry shadowless storms in our ears. What strange dreams she must have had, sleeping in that pot-hole. Often she mumbled the names of federal agencies out of sequence: the Library of Revenue, the Department of Food and Transportation, the Smithsonian Institute of Internal Congress. Her voice was foggy like some late night October drive through Damascus or Westminster. Now it's quiet on her side, no lightening, no long empty sounds.
Every so often I go to Washington
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