• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 07


Born with a whimper at the end of the roar
thundering champagne bubbles in free
fall hurtling towards thirsty
brown sucking earth
dustbowl, they called it
everyone knows
that skinny dirty grey woman
in the photo
all the colors
drunk from the wind
trapped in depression glass.

She sets her pretty face west
the odyssey of the queen anne chair
hitching with her grandmother
across endless open green
before country
in a dusty covered wagon
behind six musty mules
and a glistening black gun
lounging poolside now
under sweet orange trees
in the turquoise breeze of the Pacific.



Today her own granddaughter
points her face east
throws her wild colors
against the four flat walls
of the security her grandmother
whispered ex nihilo
she totters to keep up
someday very soon
another ghost enthroned
on the rickety antique chair
at the center of their story.