27 May 2006 | Vol. 6, No. 1

Whee!

by LETITIA TRENT

She's in lace-edged socks and holds a berry-picking

basket. A prudent voice like the weatherman:

better bring an umbrella. Better mind the skyline

during your long drive. She eats sugar by the handfuls

straight from the bag. She can only imagine cars

on the highway. Thinks they must glint like boats

on a blue harbor. She can only imagine boats

on a blue harbor. She doesn't drive. Can't fill out

her forms without me—Who is our emergency contact?

Where do we live now? Once she held a spatula

against the flame until it caught the curtains,

then her dress, then her flesh. What a mess

that was. I entertained the reaper as he waited at our

crumb-strewn table, bones around a coffee cup, for her

to burn down to a manageable puddle. I exaggerate.

But you're dripping wet! Did you forget your umbrella?