my tragic right hip

Busting out bad joints all over the place

April 23rd, 2008

November (Rice Lake)

[I don’t think this one is quite done yet; still percolating]

A passing glance at the calendar
leads to hours spent flipping photos
examining the evidence of your existence

Your birthday–one of the few things I recall–
along with the smell of your cigarettes, how
you slapped my ass that one day, and your
prickly, adolescent chin.

I fell for the softness of your skin,
gentle like the lake water, Diego Luna,
Pacey, my Trip Fontaine, all the boys
of an over-active imagination.

Our time ran out like a rainstorm: quick, fierce
and uncontrollable on my part, lying in wait with no
sun to pass through.

It rains today. The same kind of rain,
thick, crisp like toast, and I crave an Export A,
Jay’s hotbox BMW, and the sour smell of your ball cap,
but the cold shoulder of my youth has passed.

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about me

Girl with titanium hip will rock. Girl with titanium hip will write. Girl with titanium hip will read. Girl with titanium hip will battle crazy-ass disease called Wegener's Granulomatosis. Now stuff that in your spelling bee!

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deanna [dot] mcfadden [at] gmail [dot] com
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