Winter 2012

Table of Contents - Vol. VIII, No. 4

 

Poetry    Translations    Fiction    Non-fiction    Reviews   

Anne Britting Oleson

 

 

“A Young Brooklyn Family Going for a Sunday Outing, NYC 1966”

a photograph by Diane Arbus (1923–1971)

We used to be cool, and sometimes
we still try to be. She jiggles
the baby’s seat with her nylon toe
while she leans over, spraying
and brushing her hair into brittle
black clouds. The black dress strains
now across her hips and breasts
in a way it never did when
we met in that bar on 14th,
she dancing a slow shimmy in the smoke,
a cigarette in one hand, a half-full glass
in the other, I straightening the leather
jacket across my shoulders before
jostling everyone aside on my way
to that bump and grind where we
ended up. That was then. Now
that bar is history, torn down
to make way for a launderette,
and Saturday night means a beer
at the kitchen table after the kids
have gone to sleep. But sometimes,
on a Sunday, we pull on our old skins
and go into the city, to walk,
just walk, holding those tiny hands
and pretending that this
is what we meant all along.

 

© Anne Britting Oleson

 

            

Poetry    Translations    Fiction    Non-fiction    Reviews