Sara Moore Wagner
This is Where the Irritation Starts
A dirt road up the side of the mountain,
two children cowering in the back
of their daddy’s truck. Daddy says,
Look at the trees, look at the trees, look
at the. Years later, he will ask you
to remember what he did for you then,
and this will feel like a possum or chipmunk
lodged inside your clavicle. Chest. Daddy,
I tell you I forget everything
because sometimes I am trying
to put a blanket there. Trying to
put a blanket
there, trying. This is where
the little boy falls asleep
and the girl thinks he is dead,
where the road bumps them
into each other. Where the brother
remembers. Where the brother
looks into the wide face of the mountain
and each tree bends to meet
him. Where the girl wants
water or open skin, that sky, the smoke
of thousands of campfires, sulfur,
the face of a lesser god. A lesser
god. Something less.