Heap

Heap was first performed at Lyre to Lyric in collaboration with Jazzanooga and Christian Collier on 4/19/2015 [youtube=http://youtu.be/TQX-C6-pnFg]

Heap

I’m not from around here. The decision to leave was abrupt But deliberate Like quitting drinks Or nicotine Vices that give you comfort but will kill you faster than you are already dying.

Abandoning the only thing that suspends you in stillness If only for a moment.

En route from Chicago To Tennessee Trailing everything I can shove In a rented 8x4 foot box That is slowing down the pace Of overloaded tires wicking away sleet and ice Every mile From There to Here

It rains The Whole way Go Down.

But.

There is a Shift when you cross over Highway 64.

Like the feeling on your cheeks and the backs of your arms when the dew settles down. Sudden, palpable, and inevitable Dew doesn’t need explaining.

Or perhaps the Shift is when the ground, turns the soles of your shoes To rust

The place where teeming memories Are a soaking heap Of leaning shotgun houses Tarnished Civil War plaques Bullets and Arrowheads found in a shallow grave obscured by kudzu.

History too heavy to move.

It rains the whole way go down

The exact location where the weight in the air Makes your skin dewy And holds the scent of wood-smoke, fresh cut grass, and gasoline Is debatable.

But when you’re Here, you know.

Somewhere near the speed traps of Louisville that are set up to pay for the continuous construction Of endless concrete clovers And Jersey walls

At the interchange of Highway 64 Is an unofficial Southern border

Here I feel it Unseasonable warmth December sleet turned rain Air envelopes me like a damp towel left in the sun But the hair on my arms is rising

There is a stillness Suspended in the humidity The hum of idling engines And the drawl of Looouuvulll voices

Only for a moment.

It rains the whole way go down

On the wall inside of the trailer, That holds the stuff worth trailing, there is a message with the corners of the vowels peeling away:

“This trailer is water resistant, but not waterproof.”

I didn’t realize there was a difference Until The letters The photographs Stuffed animals with synthetic fur worn down to felt

Artifacts of a life wandered through in no particular order

Are a soggy heap I still keep In a mildewed pile at the back of the closet.