The Man In Black1229.2009
The man came to me on a black horse,
his flask was full of black water.
He rode along a deep black lake,
his ride cavorted with its reflection.
The man wore a black suit that made his fingers bone bright
and he pulled his black hat down that smelled like bad meat,
like a million roads someplace far.
The man said, “You must be earth’s daughter.”
I replied I was.
“How’s life walking along her spine?”
“It’s like striking a match on the gasoline,
like beautiful bravo and bitter blight,” I said.
The man in black nodded. “So I hear.”
He spat on the ground and grinned.
The man got off his horse to walk beside me,
I noticed there were songs in his eyes.
The grass was so high between us,
it met my waist and his hips.
The wind kind of sighed like a tired woman
and the sun was a speck of coal in my eye.
“I tell ya girl,” his voice was earnest,
“Living ain’t easy, you got peoples pain stacked against you.”
Then he looked at me, “You got to reckon next time, now.”
We stopped on a dirt road leading into a hole of wire trees,
I heard a dog bark somewhere far away.
“Maybe from the Janus plantation,” he said.
The man took out his flask of black water,
“Want some?” he asked.
I looked at the flask for a minute or two.
All these years I'd been thirsty as man with a bad accent.
I thought why not,
I was learning how to leave trails with no scent.
I drank the black water,
there was nothing else.
Marni©