Graceland Mist

Lovers, we clung to each other and wondered what insane mischevious god was this fate?

I knew him before a heart attack stole his ability to move. Back then, he lived to drive, to travel, to keep running fast. Now, immobile, trapped, he struggles, waves his arms and legs in the air like a bee on its back dying on the window sill.

It was on a road somewhere in east Colorado when they retired her. They did it bloodless and cold over the phone when the bottom fell out in ’08 and the Yankee profiteers fled with all the loot. We drove down the front range and across the dry plains silent and angry, storm clouds building on the horizon. Their thunderclaps reverberate still.

I chased dirty money down to LA. Magdalena followed me into the cacophony and anxiety. I dug what I could out of the hive, and she learned to cure with a touch. Just before the ax fell, we skedaddled.

We found a lost sea-captain washed up on the banks of a river serving ‘cue and liquor. We found fragrant flowers blown by stinking automobile slipstreams. We found a wrecked school still teaching. We found shattered dreams still lovely. We found slithering, beautiful danger. We found homesteads haunted by ghosts and love. We found the universe in flower petals and water drops. We found a watery wilderness antidote. We found beauty and each other.

Me and Magdalena drove free on a wet grey American highway into the rainy outback and found peace, quiet and grace.

 

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