3:AM Magazine

Three pieces by Susan Culver

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(Fear of) Colors

Or else the fading. Morning, still imperfect, in spite of that fragile sun.

And all the things we no longer talk about. That we stick our hands in our pockets, smile our way through the lines.

Weeks with an ache in my chest; with the hole you left in my dreams. That the experts would call this escalation. Like the downed plane. The new year. Another few thousand kids with iPods and dog tags. With that same ferocious faith.

Like sidewalk chalk and your crooked rainbow. How, years later, you finally figured out what you were missing.

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(Fear of) Learning

Clinic smell and this terrible wait. How she scrapes her nail polish away with her teeth, rattles her foot. Keeps trying to get you to look at her.

The thought of your father, the stone of his face etched deeper with every disappointment. Your father, and that you aren’t ready to be a father.

The way she needs you too much, needs someone to comfort her. She’s reaching for your hand but your hand is unwilling. Don’t you love me? she asks.

And your jaw hardens against any lie you might tell.

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Sad City

It’s only this nearly gloaming, no need to whistle or hum. No reason to rush in a world of unlit windows, walls without secrets, these miles and months of pause. Even the rain is half fallen, bereft of its lovely scent. Even the seasons have stalled beneath a blank faced space, clouds like unwound clocks.

And my god, I’m so tired of playing the solitary god, of guessing where you want your harbor, your high rise, how deep to draw your crowds. I keep thinking by now there should be churches and trains, librarians and maps. I keep counting on traffic and memories, on a dozen streets where you could have touched me.

And my god, I guess I should be content with knowing you’re out there, safe in a place where the cabs still run from time to time, where escape lies beside a slim and limber possibility in a one room apartment. That you wouldn’t have it any other way and I should be content, you see, but I keep thinking about how I crushed a dream for this one.

I killed a universe for this one.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Susan Culver lives in Colorado and is the editor of Lily. Her poetry collection, All the Ways We Could Have Met, is available in bookstores.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, March 30th, 2007.