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| mark jackley |  | 1. THE SECOND MARRIAGE REARS ITS HEAD BUT DOES NOT ATTACK One night in bed, slowly, in between blackouts and screaming matches, lamps hurled, knives and ripped upholstery, we ate a box of ginger snaps as we stared at something on TV, two mumbling, fat and happy zombies, and chased the cookies with cold milk, languorously. We sipped, the better to savor a little sweetness on our lips. 2. TO AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD BOY Friend who sobbed and sobbed because she sold the van to pay for the divorce, lay down and be quiet on the carpet, worn in the limping light of Tuesday afternoon but still nailed to the floor. 3. TO THE DEER THAT GLANCED OFF MY CAR UNHURT Thank you. It was just a tap, a startling reminder that I must return before it is too late to my own woods, where the sudden movements of my life have hurt the ones I love the most, where perhaps confession is taken in a tongue like moss, wet, forgiving, by a pond so deeply hidden we forgot it and nearly died of thirst. | |
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