Far Afield After School

Donny called it The Love Museum. Tripple-X Adult Books & Films on Garland Road, the only business on a road bordered by bottomland. We crouched low to not be seen entering, everything dark as a closet under coats. Donny’s eye went bright at a film projector’s peephole. I fed a quarter into a nearby slot and gazed in.

But after that I edged away, closer to the door. I never told him it was sadness that made me ditch him there. Those people’s faces not showing any interest in what they were doing.

shower shave brush dress 
keys coffee unlock relock 
high wisps of ice clouds 

 

Imagined Distance

At the Devices of Torture Museum, a rush of children must be retrieved by a very tired mother. They want to touch everything. Maybe try some of it out. It’s almost funny—how laughter sounds, coming from belly to nose of a bronze bull. Until they all see an old man crouched in a corner, weeping.

sound muted 
I look up from reading to see 
news of imminent war 

and from a nearby high school 
cheering wafts in 

home team winning at the buzzer 

 

A Round Afternoon

The Guggenheim, that caracol. Open at its center with spiral walks ascending. The incline offers something like the penitent’s trudge, its gentle difficulty suggesting a slower pace, the better to see. From its highest balcony, the past opens beneath me. I wave down at Grandpa, waiting by the entry. He has seen it all.

his strata 
reaching up to where 
love is found 

 

Bio: Daryl Scroggins