print previewback CHLOE HONUM
Love Is a Wound that Will Happen
after Thomas James
The motel is from another era, its horseshoe driveway a half-loop of time.
The wind beats the hills like carpets and orange pollen
tumbles down. I wish you could show me again the black-and-white
picture of your mother playing Juliet in Paris, the sleeves of her dress
flaring like trumpet flowers. It’s summer. The stars come out;
in what tense they shine, I’ve never been clear. Shutting my eyes,
pulling the rough white sheet to my chin, I listen to the sparrows
closing the trees, someone laughing, and in the leaves the rain picking up
exactly where it left off eight years ago one August morning. 
The title is taken from Thomas James’s poem “The Poinsettias.”
Love Is a Wound that Will Happen
Stopping at a Gas Station on the Third Day of Driving Across the Country