Oklahoma City Gymnopédie
For those whose concerns are too ungainly to speak I light this candle. For my sister and her child at the Carlyle Motel—even though my house is open. For my Daddy, who'd scorn this mention of him, who'd crush the little worm of shame before it got to his head. He's old, he's old. Yes, brother, but he is alive. He stands on the boards of his porch before dawn in shirts that smell like cumin. For him, and for all of you listening, I position the flame like so.
<< Back
