Shorts

Sunday/Wednesday

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What follows is a series of images wherein a poem is presented handwritten on scraps of graphic paper, against a background of crumpled up newspaper, bubble wrap, and wrapping paper. In the first image, we see the title: Sunday / Wednesday.

Sunday.

We stayed for the hurricane, our bed already halfway to Texas, the roads too thick with standstill panic to drive. We left the cars across town, the last good spaces in the college garages, the other townies also betting life continues, bars still take cash. We got married at city hall--final errands--while outer bands lurched toward the bay.

I packed the windows with what remained: bubble wrap, plastic bags, cardboard scraps, spit, snot, tape, dread. I called my mother to cry, to pace myself into composure. I said goodbye to the stray cat all the neighbors took turns feeding--David Meowie, one good eye. I cried again in the shower, drunk on tallboys and bleach fumes. We waited and waited, but the roof stayed put, the power barely twitched, street signs left upright, and the end of the world hardly seemed worth much at all.

(No text on this image--just bubble wrap, newspaper, and cardboard.)

Wednesday.

We left Florida three days later, our cat zipped into her carrier, your job offer already in hand, the sky too blister bright to drive without squinting. We took both cars, the good pans, our papers. I left my office books, all of academia, betting life continues, that there's a world outside college halls and seminar rooms, unread book reviews for unread books. We sped out of the bay...

...up the Gulf, noses up and around the state's armpit, each rest stop a mix of bleach and piss and Diet Coke. There was no time to breathe it all in deeply. Before we left, our downstairs neighbors let us know she took David Meowie in, David was fine--"one good eye." I cried again. Sometimes you pack up what remains, waiting and waiting, the storm more threat than wind, its true power in making you forget there is likely something after the end of your world.

(A final image with no text, just wrapping paper, cellophane, and thick brown paper.)

A printer-friendly PDF of this poem is available here.

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KJ Shepherd on Twitter
KJ Shepherd is the editor/producer/co-writer for the Ask Any Buddy Podcast. They live in Austin, Texas.

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