Dead Can DanceDan McCannThese eyes willful and soft. Is that you? Where did you disappear to? How many lifetimes between one silence and another? If only I could be there lilting in your ear and dreaming when you feel blue and red is another color I could show you. I choose not to believe but to be inside your grace and crystalline fortune fanning out into the darkness we both long for. Don�t wish me goodbye I couldn�t stand it. The price of revelation is an aching for which there is no cure. Instead, inject me with the unknown antidote of your love and let me sleep.
PhotoMy brother and I squinting into the sun.Skinny brown rails, thin limbed, hairless but for a crewcut and a fine blonde down stiffened with sea salt. There is a hole in the sand behind us filled with bay water, or a goby if we�re lucky. My mother is there, leaning in, circa 1967. The recent divorce is in her cat-eye sunglasses. It�s in the paperback book with its corners turned down in the breeze she holds to her head, a straw hat and a deep shadow. But mostly it�s in our hole in the sand from which we looked up into a brilliant sun. The pose, say cheese!, the shutter, we turning back to our hole, a stranger trying to be our friend, our future father, putting the camera down, saying, �Do we have any chips?� |
|
© 2003 Dan McCann Dan McCann grew up in Southern California and now lives in Northern California where he works in web site design. He has had stories and poems published in Pangolin Magazine, Elk River Review, and Magic Realism. In addition to fiction and poetry, he has also done some screen writing including an adaptation of Dante's Inferno.
|