rearview

the last time i saw her she was in a motel in omaha
building skeletons out of jim beam
the only other man in her life was jack daniels
all her ex-boyfriends were gathered in a tent out on the 
lawn
listening to an army recruiter declare love dead
and the last time anyone had seen her father
he was dancing circles around the clowns in reno
then there was me
i had followed her to santa monica and back that summer
and it was as close to hell and as close to her as i could 
ever get
she wouldn't have known i was alive if i had been the rum 
and coke in her trembling hands
i sat on the piano bench stunned by the absence of emotion 
in her eyes
my fingers refused to touch a single ivory key
when they only longed to touch her cheek
i traced her every move as she left her barstool
and felt shivers overcome me as she approached my piano
she handed me a five dollar bill
'thank you,' she said, 'the silence was beautiful.'
and she left
i looked down at the money in my palm
and saw that she had written something in her drunken scrawl
it read: 'i'm going to new orleans next summer. i hope to 
see you in my rearview mirror.'
i left omaha that night
i woke up this morning with tears in my eyes to hear she died,
her white cadillac just twisted, broken metal on the median 
strip of interstate 40.
but every now and then when i'm driving late at night
i imagine i see her tail lights in front of me.

dakota

march 1st, 2000