Free Write Entries Week 10

Entry 1: This is a riff off a poem from Miracle Fruit by Aimee Nezhukumatathil which is the book Davidson let me borrow... from the poem "Origin of the Milky Way"
"I can't stop staring at the right-hand corner/ of the painting,and I am reminded of the man/ I miss, five hundred miles away."

The man I miss, 10 states or 2439.19 miles away, according to
Google Maps which only ever fails us when we're 10 inches apart,
if that, or if at all, when he gets mad we both get quiet, me
drivers seat with clenched fists, all the bad things pent up
in finger tips like they have been since i was six, you can't yell
at me, i tell him in a voice same volume as dean ween
humming through sound waves, but i can't stop staring at him out of the corner
of my eye like a painting, too loud to speak until he remembers
it's not my fault, touches my hand or head or whatever i let him
touch and sings along with words in context insulting but from his mouth
a hymn of forgiveness, the words don't matter, only his voice
like steam coming from bathroom doors, fogs up my car windows
so i can't stay sorry and when we finally get there,
wherever that place was, he never says sorry, only sings
his broken dylan to me in the voice that keeps me calling
over timezones. it's hard to drive like that, he notes, and i, back in the corner
of my kitchen when i'm small, stained and rented, nod my head to the song
hot on his breath open palms around steering wheel, regrip and release,
when i remember it's not his fault. i can't blame him
for clenched fists. he's never even seen my kitchen.

Entry 2: from "Cheese Curds: The First Time" by Aimee Nezhukumatathil ... I'm putting these as free-writes??? I hope that's okay.
"How I love/ the grab and pull for something you can't name, only/ knowing you want more. The thinness in your voice/ as you try to describe all the breads and heaps/ of fresh beans just waiting to be snapped./ I have not yet mentioned the squeak in your teeth."

All Wisconsin really gave me was hangovers
from cheese curds and company, guilt on my pant
leg the whole drive home, that's thirteen hours
when Beth drives eating Reese's puffs and my tiny
dancer of ten years makes bad raps from Shotgun
from the worst trip of our lives, orphaned by people
who aren't our parents, given up like babies
on church steps, unwanted property we left after bagels
and an offer we couldn't refuse but decided not to take,
a hotel room for a night just to get us out of here.
Our friend drives a truck, for a cheese factory
but for "a place for friends," we have only met
locked doors and bad luck.
The whole state is my favorite joke
and my worst nightmare, false sense
of belonging, temporary as cheap nail polish:
we needed a change in color, you see.
Swatting gnats by a frozen lake, he told me
he was sorry and i told him i didn't care,
i'd rather flip through his Playboys
than listen to his accent like carpet cleaning
sput fat complaints,
like that ingredient you regret in what
would have been perfect general tso's chicken,
the one that made us vomit after too much
whatever was in that thermos the night before.
People never know exactly what they want,
except every time we come back we know
we want cheese curds, desperate for the squeak
in your teeth you just can't get down south.

*note to sheshy if you read this, obviously inspired by read events and people but also it is just a freewrite aka reality on crack so keep that in mind... heh <33