cora carried two cans
of diet mountain dew
past me as i flipped
through a three year old
consumer reports magazine
i was reading about
the safety of car seats
i don't drink no diet
look at me
her cheeks were large earlobes
grey stubble on her chin
in a tiny room
she was ironing shirts for men
who would be back
at 5 to pick them up
i don't drink no diet mountain dew
the seniors at the center
round the corner bring em to me
you know the place
the cans were in a ziploc
hanging like dirty laundry
from her finger tips
tight on the corner of plastic
between us, she says
i am taking them
out to my car
to bring em home
someone else can drink them there
she's American
but her tongue
could have been from anywhere
south of Fairfax, her eyes, large
i could see that few events
escaped them
i had a question for her
she came back to the little room
the dryers making low booms
with every rotation
the washers gushing rivers
i asked her how long she thought
it would take to dry a comforter
she shook her head
depends on the dryer
she pressed her hand on one
glass door after another
this one's the hottest
she said, I clinked in my quarters
gambling on the heat
it wasn't real silence
like movies without sound
behind the machine tumbles
the television murmured accusations
and then a man came in
to the balmy heat
like the kind paid for dearly
in the bahamas
here it is free
cora hands him trousers on hangers
shirts buttoned three times
once at the collar
you early, she says
he took his shirts in piles
gave cora a couple twenties
shit, cora, how’d you get so beautiful
he said and she blushed
you such a liar
the back of him disappeared
behind the smudged glass door
she says to me, see?
don't need no
diet
nothin'
midnight is an eye, awake
insistent, holding on
to ragged edged dreams
midnight is an arm, silken
with age, fringed in hope
a sidewalk, an unpaved road
midnight is a bosom, rising
quiet like bread and love presses
down so it can rise again
midnight is a hard sole, crusted
with garden and memories cling
as it pads to morning
midnight is lighted, white
and opaque as milk, inside
is a dream someone once had
the dream is still and awake
Check out Jill's recent book of fiction, The Third Rail. Cover and brief review on our books page.