othromantics

When we arrived in Jackson Hole there were lightening storms above the lake that I'd not seen before, and I had lived there five years. There was electricity in the air, big connective strikes, powerful stuff. Then when arriving at Leys' place about 20 miles from the lake there was ice, balls of hail, like I'd never seen in August, Leys either, and he had lived in the place for 45 years. That was the reintroduction. We (Leys and I mostly) drank several bottles of wine to celebrate. I was alive again, away from the pointless struggle for career that takes up ones time in the doldrums of upstate NY poverty. So they claim. That night I made love to Avé good and long and we embraced that feeling, the love, like it was our dying breath. Because it was. In a way it always is. Our relief and the power of that entrance was enough to convince anyone that God was watching and blasting away at our notions of normalcy. Or it was just happenstance. I thought of V-Daddy thinking that the romantic part was more than foolish. Then I imagined he approved. Someone had to. Imagine that is, imagine it was possible, imagine the best.

At home, in the studio, in the train yard below, a man had died. Men had gathered to await the coroner and stare at the torn body of the yard worker.

Apparently there was a missed step.

What happened here? I asked the guard and that’s what he said, Apparently there was a misstep. I pursed my lips in a grimace and nodded. Then we watched. We watched as the half torn body was lifted and placed into the coroners van while the police asked questions and took depositions. There was a misstep and that was that. I got my story, the boys in uniform got their days work, the unfortunate man got his earthly end and I walked Faf in our little piece of brownfield, what we got, next to our collaborative beginning.

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