sunrise reveals what nature has done (4)

Another rumbling convulsion,

more falling bricks and new screams, 

dust fountains from fresh cracks in the street.

The bones in the dice pits in far away Vegas,

tumble from boxcars to snake eyes,

change the fortunes of some all night shooters,

from insomniac winners to broke red-eyed losers.

We oughta get outa here. Where can I take you, Miss Brown?

You really don’t have to, I usually walk. it’s just a little ways out of town.

Not this morning. I’m taking you all the way home.

I don’t want to be any trouble, I’ve already been enough.

From Smith? I can take care of him.

Well so can I. I can take care of myself.

She pulls a horn-handled folding knife out of the pocket of her dress.

I’m sure you can. In normal situations. Gus ain’t normal.

Well what about you? he said he’s got business with you, Mr Henry.

Not the first time, I know what to do. And don’t call me mister.

So where to? mind if I call you Ruthie? where to?

Ruthie is fine. Cottonwood. You know Cottonwood?

Yeah. You walk all the way out there?

It’s no big thing. Sometimes my cousin’s fiance gives me a ride.

He starts the flathead’s growling motor.

The radio’s orange dial lights up:

ain’t no ballads playing on station KUZZ anymore......

….reports still coming in folks, ...heavy damage

in Bakersfield and Tehachapi, officials urging

people to stay calm...Fire department says

stay out of buildings, more aftershocks likely

….call us with any information we can pass on……

Crawling through the streets they see a brand new ‘52

with the roof flattened down to the top of the doors,

a hardware store’s rafters exposed

like compound fractures jutting through skin,

pyramids of bricks piled like spilled apples.

Bungalows knocked off their foundations

sit tilted and sprawled on the ground.

People standing in front yards in their pajamas and underwear.

A wild-eyed dog bolts under a juniper hedge. 

One family has already pulled their mattresses out on the lawn,

but nobody’s sleeping.

Some men in the street pass a bottle of rye,

peer in the window as the car passes by,

get all skinny pig-eyed when they spy Ruthie Brown.

She slumps down in the seat.

Words surely will pass from their snickering mouths

through houses and churches, from bar rooms to the street,

and nothing good will come of it.

She’s sure of it.

California Avenue goes due east,

past the outskirts of town to Cottonwood Road,

where the colored live.