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Rodney DeCroo
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Behind the Gasworks On Railroad Avenue/ An Odd Gift
Where white storage tanks sit in gravel and tar, my brother and I push our bicycles into a vacant lot of dust and far apart trees that throw skinny shade against a white
one storey brick and concrete building that was once a factory. We lay our bicycles on the ground and sit with our backs against the coolness
of the brick wall. Our legs thrust out before us in the dust. It doesn't matter that we are wearing cut off jeans and our legs will be stained with the dust and our sweat.
We are too young to separate ourselves from the day with its load of sunlight and dirt. We are tired and do not talk, we turn the dirt through our fingers
and my brother says look and holds his hand out to me. Two pieces of pig iron in his dirt smeared palm. They're as black as crow feathers I say. He puts
them in his pocket. Says quietly, crow feathers, boy that's a good one. We sit a while longer. I notice our breath rising and falling
and how effortless it seems. This is the summer day that comes back to me when my brother I haven't heard from in a year or two calls tonight
to say he is living in Jacksonville in a treatment center and no liquor has passed his lips for three weeks. His ex-wife, who won't speak his name,
will let him see his son if he stays sober for a year. He still has the two pieces of pig iron wrapped in cloth in a drawer. He says they help him to stay sober
and do I remember that day and how I said crow feathers. I see the white storage tanks, barbed wire, gravel, and tar. 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 Yes, I say, and set the phone softly down
(music bridge/ transition into second poem on track)
An Odd Gift
The tulips you gave me have wilted. They sag like the bent necks of horses drinking at the river's edge beneath a hard sun. The vase
you placed them in is brighter now than the shriveled petals that only days ago were the color of fire not rust. When I was five
my father put me on a horse. It was like being astride a planet. A sharp kick and the entire earth moved beneath me. My father
yards ahead, blue work shirt patched a darker blue by sweat, rode without turning once. The huge slabbed muscles
of the neck, the rolling might of that wide warm back carried me as safe and light as air along the path
into the forest shadows. The river shone in pieces between the pines like flickering coins tossed in the dark.
I scarcely held the leather reins. The horses knew the way to water and brought us there with easy gait and snorted breath to fill their thirst.
In this evening's half-light your dead tulips seem to glow, like dark eyes of horses as they bow their heads to drink.
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