by Sarah Kulla, 2003
Reprinted by permission of the Kern Valley Transients’ Entity

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
the silver metal snaps all down her blouse were not enough to stop the truck
to stop the snow
to keep her going and never let her go
she tried to know but what could she know
it was all so fast
so bright so damned hot and cold all the time; it was always happening. Always.

The silver star beach trees were catching the wind to store up for later
when it was calm
or that was the idea at least until
the cat came back to free his soul with one final embrace, one last loving look upon this town, this bowl of old cat spit water and these damned fishie shaped tender morsels of
cat food.

And me, where was I all the while, you’ll surely wonder.
I was high. I was high all the time I never once looked down to clear a place to land so when I finally
fell
It was too late.
Does it sound sad? Dark and heavy, black and brown with streaks of grey milk?
No, no, look again.
How
could it not be simply
perfect?
I was still laughing as I fell, riding my solitary silver rocket through the silent sliding winds of eternity.