dead man's curve

the road twists its lips into a snarl
or a grin. a bouquet of teddy bears
left out in the rain to become demons.
darkness is where we can go
to eat chocolate. i drive & you play
on your phone. you turn into a prophet.
i turn into a disciple. we are on our way
to foretell the coming 
of a great pile of buffalo skins.
let's not pretend the land doesn't remember.
grudges are as deep as the shale.
water carries blood & vice versa.
once i kneeled to quench my thirft
in a stream. i looked at my hands,
cupping the water, finding them crimson.
the deer come here to make themselves
into martyrs. the birds then arrive
to feast. play percussion song 
on the ribs. when was the last time 
you drove this slowly? i was a teenager
& i gripped the wheel, holding on
to a dinner plate. i ran a stop light
& no one was around. i pulled over
weeping to the coyote. "don't come
& devour me." punishment is less
a force of nature & more a force of
memory. here is how the earth did not let me
get out without bruises. without
a man in my backpack. once, a man's wife 
dropped ribbons from her hair
before jumping off the roof
& becoming a blue heron. that ribbon
is the road i used to take to your house.
the road i would take & call 
the fireworks over & over until she answered.
until she took out her pocket-knife
& made the cockroaches talk. 
i'm not afraid of travel or even if fire.
i am scared instead that we will 
come out on the other side of the ridge 
& not be able to remember each other.