his hand's dripping wet

as he digs for a quarter

and comes up with ten cent

Back in the Woods

I'm back.

Well, look at you. I guess you're back.

Yeah-I'm back.

Well, well, well-For how long this time?

Um-Don't know.

Right. So-How was it out there on the dumb American highway, days on end? Have any revelations?

No- Epiphanies?

No- Divine manifestations?

Look- What? You have some sort of confession to make?

No-Why?

Guilty conscience?

About what?

How many pathetic women did you leave out there-dazed and bewildered, turning in circles?

Can't we just- What?

Get along?

Depends.

On what?

Your availability.

I'm going to stay here for at least a week.

Not that.

What then?

Never mind.

What?

I have to go down to the post office.

Wait a second- What?

I don't know. I just get back and now you have to go down to the post office?

Yeah. Life goes on.

I know but- What?

I don't know- Oh-Would you mind moving your Chevy off the lawn, please? It kills the grass.

Sure. Where do you want it?

I don't care-down by the lake, maybe. No-not down by the lake. I don't want to be looking at it in the morning, out the kitchen window.

Where then?

Put it way back deep in the woods. Somewhere. Back where I can't see it.

Holyoke

Somebody's shooting deep in the woods. Wind is out of the north and somebody's out there shooting. A hawk struggles through it, ducking and diving, doing his best. Two loons. Wind makes the water race in dark bars. Across the lake somebody keeps shooting. Light keeps shifting. You can feel all kinds of weather in it. Weather from far off, rolling in. The gun makes the dog cringe. Dog crinkles up with every bang. Boat knocking up against the dock; tethered to it, just rocking. Water slapping the aluminum hull in little claps. Faraway thunder. You can see it coming.

She sits down beside me now with a big white bowl of peaches in her lap. She makes my heart sing. Her lap and her peaches. Gun keeps going off deep in the birch. Saplings squeak. Tamarack. Black butterfly struggles in the wind. Dog keeps her one good eye on the loons. Red sumac. Indian plumage. Shoshone. Arapaho. Someone keeps shooting. Far off. Must be just practice, for something big. Something coming up.

One Stone

when I dug the deep grave

for her father's body

through pure glacial sand

I came across one stone

at the very bottom

perfectly smooth

and deep dark orange

ripe as a fallen apricot

I brought it to the surface

kept it on my dashboard for miles

rattling around

wherever I went

she never knew where it came from

never asked