by Aramie Louisville Vas (nee Bloom)
Surrounded by filth, animals,
a trailer with a string fence.
“I want to go to Harvard,” she said,
“I want to be a lawyer.”
Blonde teenaged hair cascaded through the living room.
Trailer stuffed to the gills, overstuffed with dusty chairs, smoke.
Her father found drawings in a cave on the property.
He told us over a dive bar beer, proudly,
about those drawings.
They went back all the way
“Like the Cadillacs,” he said. Registered our shock with high regard.
And his wife, 50,
ratted hair and a shifting shirt
caught popcorn in her cleavage
from a man beside the billiards.
“Our children are trash,” she said.
“And we are swingers.”
“Your daughter wants to be a lawyer.”
This, choked out with an echo in my voice.
“Our daughter’s a stupid blonde cunt. Ain’t she, honey?”
That January night was black. Crisp and poignant,
like the ending of a storybook.
Outside, the hills rolled on. Forgotten farmland
tied up in a string fence with dirty animals.
Hills of time,
decorated with envy,
for that girl was the only one wanting.
Aramie Bloom, 2015