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Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky. Moon-fingers lay down their same routine On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the… - Charles Wright
" "Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky.
Moon-fingers lay down their same routine
On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys.
Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.
I want to be bruised by God.
I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.
I want to be stretched, like music wrung from a dropped seed.
I want to be entered and picked clean.
And the wind says “What?” to me.
And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say “What?” to me.
And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.
And the gears notch and the engines wheel.
English
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Like a vein of hard coal, it was the strike
We fantasized, the pocket of sure reward we sidestepped the road-
blocks for
In Southwest Virginia, seamed in its hillside
Above the north fork of the Holston River.
One afternoon before Christmas
In 1953, we crossed the bridge from Tennessee on a whiskey run,
Churchill and Bevo Hammond and Philbeck and I,
All home for the holidays.
On the back road where they chased us, we left the Sheriff's Patrol in
their own dust,
And washed ours down with Schlitz on the way home.
Jesus, it’s so ridiculous, and full of self-love,
The way we remember ourselves,
and the dust we leave...
Remember me as you will, but remember me once
Slide-wheeling around the curves,
letting it out on the other side of the line.
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