Monday, February 03, 2003

requiem on the day of the columbia crash.

On february first,
i woke up and saw a
picture of a girl in
a striped green shirt
with her tongue stuck out
on my dresser.

Ate a slice of homemade pizza
with half melted montery jack cheese
and olives
and chugged gas to the thrift store
where i shovel dust.

I hung up faded jeans
and saw a red plaid skirt
that could burn out your eyes
if it had the right curves to hug
and watched a man in an
egg spattered shirt
talk about the columbia crash.

Seven loved bodies dissolved to
foam
and drifted to earth over texas
like a rainshower you see
over distant mountains.

Saw a widow try her best not
to crack with a mic
shoved up her nose
and turned away.

Thought i saw a striped shirt in the aisle.

Drove home and hummed a line
from Rites of Spring, but didn't breathe
the lyrics.

that night, i trembled in
a chair over a pile of
boring photos, across
the table
her shirt wasn't green.

40 miles above the earth,
sipping on pina colada and
smirking at saturday night live and
i crashed.

"We're too different."