ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 107
56After4
It's fifty-six minutes after four in the morning.
There is blood on the sky.
I'm standing on a lonely stretch of coast in southern California.
Borders are so meaningless.
I'm leaning on a car that costs enough to feed a small country.
Every moment ofmy life has wound down to this moment.
This spot has been here forever and I was always supposed to be here.
My wife is in the trunk.
And some bricks.
Except of course, being dead, she's not my wife any more is she?
I wonder if her last thought was ofme.
How selfish.
I am watching waves eat a mountain called America.
And I am trembling.
It is impossible that she is no longer alive.
We made love in our house before there was any furniture.
It is impossible.
The blister that will be today is popping on the horizon.
A seal is lying on the beach.
Dogs of another world.
Do they eat carrion? I wonder distantly.
Something makes me open the trunk.
I exhale as I do so; I don't want to know if I shouldn't have.
She's there.
Wearing white.
I retch.
A thousand ants are crawling on my scalp.
She led a good life, she was a good woman.
The coast is so jagged, the water so cold.
And deep.
Gulls circle overhead as I carry her down the steep path.
Inflating the raft is simple. Just pull the yellow tab.
The sound makes makes me want to die
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