The Baby Screaming in the Back Seat
| Julia Kasdorf screams because she cannot see her mother driving, because it is night and every night she screams before sleep because she knows our paltry fires mean nothing next to the tigers that creep from dark trees, screams because we will drop bombs for peace, screams because a mother in while her own baby slept in a heap of clean scraps at her feet, screams because the car drinks gas like tea, screams as if she already sees the griefs her life will gather, screams as the stubborn symphony keeps getting louder, screams when it snaps off and the car drifts into a lot and the mother climbs beside that miserable traveler strapped in her seat, offers a breast, then sneaks back to the front, an arm reaching back to cup the head still hot from screaming. The mother drives, reciting details from the night this child was born -- snow blew across the moon, ski runs blazed like great snakes on the ridge outside our room-- and still the baby screams because she can’t believe anyone is driving this machine. ~~~~~ |