(no subject)
the sight of orange, slippery soil
looks like God cupped his hands full of dirty water
and poured it out on the side of the road,
making the earth a shiny clay,
covering mistakes so that you can softly sink to the point that everything will be alright this time, baby.
I used to hold the red dirt
smear it thickly across my skin,
pushing it up hard on my cheekbones,
thickly coating my arms,
removing freckles,
birthmarks and scars from the surface.
we have been driving for more than six hours,
back home,
there is no home sweet home welcome mat outside or sweet home alabama song in Virginia.
just the redness of the open earth.
the humidity lies warm in my lungs.
in this state the sky takes its time to change.
it made me remember what happened last summer
when we sat in the cemetery
and watched meteors fall
like they were trying to burn the town.
we snuck through the woods
and under the wire fence
and lay between headstones
on sleeping bags
that crinkled in the dry grass.
we breathed air so hot
it was like breathing under blankets.
he made up quiet songs
about friendly ghosts
because he knew I was spooked by the darkness of the woods
all around us and the constant roar of the crickets.
at first the meteors came out timidly,
a tiny spark every few minutes or so.
But a couple hours after midnight the sky became alive with sudden flashes of color.
one was quick and green like god hocking a loogie across the sky.
one was huge and red and filled the sky for what seemed like hours.
sometimes there was more than one at a time, blue, pink, and purple
and we couldn't speak because it was so much bigger than us
and I had to close my eyes.
looks like God cupped his hands full of dirty water
and poured it out on the side of the road,
making the earth a shiny clay,
covering mistakes so that you can softly sink to the point that everything will be alright this time, baby.
I used to hold the red dirt
smear it thickly across my skin,
pushing it up hard on my cheekbones,
thickly coating my arms,
removing freckles,
birthmarks and scars from the surface.
we have been driving for more than six hours,
back home,
there is no home sweet home welcome mat outside or sweet home alabama song in Virginia.
just the redness of the open earth.
the humidity lies warm in my lungs.
in this state the sky takes its time to change.
it made me remember what happened last summer
when we sat in the cemetery
and watched meteors fall
like they were trying to burn the town.
we snuck through the woods
and under the wire fence
and lay between headstones
on sleeping bags
that crinkled in the dry grass.
we breathed air so hot
it was like breathing under blankets.
he made up quiet songs
about friendly ghosts
because he knew I was spooked by the darkness of the woods
all around us and the constant roar of the crickets.
at first the meteors came out timidly,
a tiny spark every few minutes or so.
But a couple hours after midnight the sky became alive with sudden flashes of color.
one was quick and green like god hocking a loogie across the sky.
one was huge and red and filled the sky for what seemed like hours.
sometimes there was more than one at a time, blue, pink, and purple
and we couldn't speak because it was so much bigger than us
and I had to close my eyes.
