THE SCREENPLAY I MAY NEVER WRITE
I was happy and also addicted to
happenstance. One job: writing
early computer games for soldiers
to teach them how to read tank
manuals. My man marries but
it’s not me in my cowboy gear.
Lost nights in which I didn’t
lose myself. Jack Mormons for
maps. I was doomed to never be
provincial, providential, president
of anything united. Black and white
(mostly white but for our shadows)
made it easy to read God’s dice.
Color won’t be denied. I saw
his skin in a sincere sunrise and
it was still a palette, a prophecy
about the joy of being human.
Hangman: _ _ _ _. Good, arms,
but not at all like for an embrace.
Work kept me from dwelling in
any mansion, my father’s or anyone
else’s. The groom called me because
he missed me. _ _ _ _ _ _ _. Missile.
Dawn is gold leaf and not gold.
—from Rattle #26, Winter 2006