southern belle

brenda cuts her nails shortshort
because she says they look good
next to her mouth
when she cries
which she doesn't do so often
but she wants to be prepared
just in case
she gets the chance


we lounge on the sinking porch
two ten-dollar deck chairs
and a cardboard box between us
settled nicely in the rottedwood trench
there's cigarettes
empty lighters
a saucepan-turned-ashtray
and amidst weeds on the lawn

we feel glamorous

with our bottles of beer
like amber-glass slippers
and thirty minutes before
the five o'clock shift lets out at the garage
we feel like little girls again

so bold
and unafraid



brenda smiles at me softly
"they say if you love someone,
let them go,
and if they love you,
they'll come back."

she falters a little
with her fingers at her mouth






"i wish he didn't love me so much."