‘Don’t be so careful,’ Dan said to me, the second he
slammed the blue hatchback’s back down.
The speed he picked up, from there to here, became a demo.
I liked to play the footage back:
I was withstanding (I was grieving
the disappearing he was doing) that life, because of how
we were together. The same shut-eyed look
his face became when he walked away, in sun-
light, following a line.
‘Maybe all I have to be’s myself more strange and
true,’ I said, in a mirror
manner. It was early spring. The magenta snow shovel leaned against
the white railing. A yellow one, better, sturdier,
with range, also. It was like early spring. ‘Same
thing.’ Like a bad faith actor at the end of his line. ‘Maybe
maybe not.’ The slow local flora and
fauna didn’t belong then. I opened my eyes.
Pieces of the words disappearing all the
time. The show of shoes. ‘Careful.’ Car-ful.
Image © Sam Ramsay