she sits by the kootenai
throws river stones making rings in a bubbling sun
a tiny cut darts into dark rocks
pierces the rings
I see a dream flash crimson
deep between her blues and greens
on main in libby squealing tires burn out to win the prize
it is a long line of shifting gears burning long lines of rubber asphalt exhaust applause
smoke choking hangs
drifts dead over the festive street
today is their parade
I am here for it
her hollow eyes
I think she may be the thinnest girl
in all of montana
speaking only to her river
she is question and answer
she calls to me
asks for a cigarette
I'm bonita
they're killing this you know
it will never be like it was
nothing is
I could only nod
silently hoping to see a cutthroat rise maybe jump high
in the thin
but lingering
smoke
JP
9.16.09
Libby Montana
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