| I took the night train there, never dreaming. To cross the straits my boxcar crept onto a barge—there was screeching, several tremendous thuds, then with a growl we sailed. I was already half-awake, anxious for a volcano, neolithic shrines, islands to explore off the main island… At my stop, early morning’s tarnish fell on a shuttered newspaper stand and torn campaign posters. A child playing near a livestock car sang about a weapon detonated in another nation, another hemisphere. From the station and the song, I walked up the mountain road to a garden where grizzly men with camera phones greeted me, sleep still in the corners of their eyes, bougainvillea around their tents. I was to be eternalized and therefore loved. They waxed my nose and powdered my nether regions. After oatmeal and coffee, I was Jupiter’s— his bardash, his Ganymede, ningle, ingle, trug—bracing against a Doric column. I felt numb a night later as rosemary blew through the lava fields. Copyright © 2015 by Greg Wrenn. Used with permission of the author. |
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