| OCR Text |
Show Driving Home for the Funeral I remembered only wind and dust flat land joining the sky no parabola, no geometry except tanned, bent figures who made ruts in the ground. And now I'm driving the pavement into horizon, fifteen years later home to put a woman I no longer know into the earth I split a six pack of Pearl with myself and steer the car into hot breeze bouncing against my face through the open window The earth rises in the air and I know again what it was that kept her here, that rank flavor of mineral and animal-and I dream my way back into the bed of my Ag teacher's chevy truck rushing home from Lubbock and passed Henry Wheat!ey's field where he had the only scarecrow in Garza County see myself again as I glimpse the first flickers of Matador in the night, a stuffed image grinning into the wind, brains leaking across the plowed field to be sifted and blown down the random plains. |
