Читать книгу Dangerous Goods - Sean Hill - Страница 19

VACATION

I crossed the Mississippi

for the first time

early our second morning out, driving

slow, and after five days of driving—

driving and visiting,

driving and car troubles,

driving and myriad signs inviting:

COME SEE THE WORLD’S LARGEST INDIAN RESERVATION

GREEN PETRIFIED WOOD NEXT RIGHT

LIVE ALBINO CAVE BUFFALO

FREE 72 oz. STEAK

(there’s always a catch),

driving and car troubles,

driving and driving west,

driving and not to the ocean yet—

I can’t sleep in Albuquerque.

Yesterday I realized

the land between

here and Santa Rosa

(where we lost

the transmission

and a day) is

too bare and flat.

The horizon’s not cluttered or

broken,

brought closer by trees

or anything.

I wasn’t meant to see that far.

My mother, father, brother,

grandmothers, and aunts—

everything excised.

I can’t feel it anymore.

Distance grows in the bones.

Tonight I feel the room

spinning like after a bender,

but I’ve been sober

since Georgia.

I can feel the world

wobble under this bed

off balance because

Georgia’s gone to oblivion.