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North of Bethel


ISSUE:  Winter 1999

She honked sharply
on the hairpin bend
and the single lane bridge

but there was no one,
a spiralling seed,
a rabbit watching
sideways from the vetch.

In the kerosene glow
we undressed gingerly,
scared of desire
and the mattress coils.

At dawn we hid the key
under the jute mat
where you could trace W . . . E
and drove back
taking each turn
a little faster

until we came to two lanes,
a freeholder’s sign,
a limit, a list of distances,

and still a strand
of the web glittered in her hair.

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