NARROW ESCAPE

She drives into a frieze of blue hills, peel,
of ochre paint on Longey's store, Bronson's boats
off-keel: across from the white church
the Foote Sisters' stand of snap beans; swerves
before an oncoming Dodge into Cider Mill Road—
the Adirondacks fall faint in the West.

Apple trees twist on their roots at the old place:
Sheep's Nose grafted onto MacIntosh—
will it take? Blackeyed Susan and Sweet Brier
in the driveway: the stalled tractor,
pickup parked sideways, there's no room
for the red Subaru. Inside, the old sofas shock,

sink still leaks; the tiger cat rubs her legs,
wants food: she bends to the habit. On the table
a woman's straw hat; curtains
new in the windows, kill the view.

She packs her books: Edgeworth,
Wollstonecraft, the old romances picked up
in second hand bookstores; steals
upstairs, a ghost in blue denim, grabs
a quilt, wicker wastebasket, white linen
sheets they'd lain on (she walked out bare‑
handed). Quiet in the attic is thick as old
blankets, the sweater her grandmother wore
against the sea winds ripped on the edges:

she winds it close. Her shoulder bones
squeeze as she gropes her way down again,
down where the cat squeals, wind gutters,
old boards creak (step on a crack, you're
dead). The screen door bangs on her heels. She
halts. Something's left behind? Never
mind. Already she tastes salt: Fay's off…

by Nancy Means Wright                   

Published in Green Mountains Review/Pudding House

© Copyright 2001- 2007, Nancy Means Wright. All rights reserved.

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