Stories
One Wheel
What I Could Hear
Winter Story
Sick with the Sun

Poems
What to Say
Home
Jealousy
Wake
Hiking a Mountain...
North for Winter
When I love you...
Induction
Poem
Dusk
Seven Hours
The Morning After
Learning to Drive
Place of White Plains
Green on Blue...
The First Time...
How I Am
For hours...
Enter June dusk...
Inside

Learning to Drive

Four girls
sat on the windowsill and
told me where to go.

Four beautiful girls
sat there, with
blonde hair in the sunlight
and told me where to go.

But those are lies—
I meant to say:
My grandmother
sat down and told me
where to go driving.

So I went there.
I learned to drive
in a cemetery.

The four girls were
beautiful asleep in the backseat
of my father’s car,
and I drove them home.
This is the truth.
They all had hair that
was blonde in the sunlight,
but they never
told me anything.

But to tell you a lie—
I woke up in
the backseat of my
father’s car one day,
and I was wearing
a new suit. We were driving
to my grandmother’s funeral.

If there is one thing about
death—it’s expensive.
But you have to do it.
You have buy a new suit or
they won’t let you
see the body.

Once, I wore a suit
because my grandmother
was dead.
But she told me once
where to go and
I went there.


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