Ive always missed the
mountains, but I didnt know it until I saw them.
I say this and youre laughing and her hair is flying everywhere. She is
there, always there and her head seems impossible, it doesnt belong. Things
like that do not belong; they are not part of the show. I turn around and offer
her gum and I sense your hands tightening on the wheel, your jaw tensing, and
if I look I know Ill see that tiny muscle flickering there, like a hummingbird
Im looking down, though, down, at your melon stomach taut against
tiny round buttons and cheap cotton; I imagine your bland penis nestled beneath,
pale and soft, a baby bird, needy and small. She bites hard on the gum, and
you, attentive to the rearview, flinch. Her lips are red, her hair is everywhere,
she bites down, and you flinch. Its all there.
The program has changed and I dont know my part and you tell me, three
hours, three hours, and were out of mountain country. I bare my teeth.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 12 | Summer 2006