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Marysarias: A Section

Marysarias: A Section

Once, we were two kids who should’ve been in love,
carving shortcuts and jogs from the Nashville maps
and banging our heads to Nirvana turned up full tilt
through the Nissan/Datsun’s single speaker,
so bored with the smallness of our lives
only made smaller by our classmates who parked

Friday nights around Love Circle, downtown Nashville
lit up like a deep sea installation in the romantic dark,
worn out condoms and the last backwash drags of George Dickel bottles
tossed to the kudzu tangled in strangleholds
around the city’s transformers and the single Cingular
cell phone tower that pulsed its red-eye warning lights
    high above it all,

both of us, I imagined, imagining what things would be
had our mothers and fathers never met, our sisters
not raised like sisters, had we met, instead, in the shade
trees of August, swinging in the hemp-nest woven
in the high branches of the highest magnolia of Centennial Park
where we taught one another to haggle
the tall, cold cans of beer we sipped
from the resident homeless men for three bucks a pop,

both of us imagining, I imagined, as we swung,
what things would be had we stumbled across each other in the dark,
making our way to McCabe’s 9th green
where together we counted the stars with our backs
to the hard, flat turf, the pole’s yellow pennant
like a heart murmur in the breeze— so dark there
the middle of the night just a mile’s trek from the train’s
curved track through treefrog-whine and bird and bee-song
                        gone quiet.

CENTER, Spring 2010

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