thread
By April Naoko Heck
“A scientist in the true sense needs to be in love with a rich store of data.”
—Wallace Chafe
It won’t love you back,
not Chapel Hill, a hill,
old dive or bartender
whose turntable changed
your life. Not fields
of silver queen corn raked
by wind, a certain moon or
moonlessness, a bend
in the road, left turn, fork, kiss.
Many kisses. A kitchen,
lemon wedges and salt.
The small dog that darted
into the road. A folded body,
the roommate who carried it
away. Closets full of data,
dates, datelessness shoved
in a shoebox, spare self,
sea shell, life-swell, a knot
catches in the throat.
What’s lost, reinvented,
windspill, cloudburst, thread-of-milk.
How I knew my way
to the grave I’d never seen.
April Naoko Heck keeps her eyes on the road.
Published On: February 14, 2010
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/100214d.htm
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