white white; it’s no snow but the texas sky’s white this morning, the flat chalk white of stormy weather. i’ve been wondering about next year, where i’ll go, sending in applications and letters for this and that, but i’ve no desire to move above tennessee, arkansas, oaklahoma, i’m spoiled by spending january sun, bare legs at the mississippi in february, lizards all winter. give me spanish moss and sweat and always a window rolled down driving through fields or swamps or the cracked houston concrete, fruit sold from the back of a truck let lips not chap let the hands not ache let the feet not burn from waiting wet in slush for the bus for too long, the neck bent tight from wind. i don’t want to scrape ice from windshields, fishtail and hold my breath on the hills. i’ll take the southern hurricanes, the palmettos, the mosquitos, the hot dark absence they call night in august. here, a good scarf should solve anything, at worst, a leather jacket & an old pair of tights, a windbreaker at the beach before sunrise. so what to the absence of skyscrapers, subways, home streets and bricks and taxis and bustle.
i want to leave my body unlocked year round.