"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
The truck driver was originally from California. He was on his feet in the street, shrieking. The woman crawled out the window of her car. "I'm all right," she said. He circled her, then touched her shoulder. When he touched her, he saw himself naked at the side of the road, sixty miles out of Nogales. His rig was in the ditch, twisted into a new number. Johnny Cash still swirling out of the cab--I went out a wandering with a Bible and a gun. A Mexican girl came over the railroad tracks and gave him an orange. He peeled it, put the bright sections carefully in his mouth. He thought, this miracle child sees me. She sees my suffering in black and white. He kneeled and stroked her hair with sticky fingers. He thought, this miracle child needs me.
The woman looked at him. "Are you okay," she asked. The regulars at the Ace Box Bar and the punks from the fast food parking lots swarmed around them. A traffic cop shouted into his radio. You bet we need some fucking backup, Charlie! The car's coiled under this bitch like a crushed beer can! Somebody laughed and started clapping. An old guy shook the truckdriver's hand and kissed the woman's thin flushed cheek. A white boy opened a paper bag and passed out pilfered cartons of Newports. Everywhere was talk and laughter, the story of the crash growing bigger and more heroic in the purple, slick street. The bartender passed around a bottle of Yukon Jack. The woman and driver held tight to each other's arms and the sense of celebration grew. Some people crept around behind the semi and picked up pieces of laminate and broken glass. Secretly, they put the pieces in their pockets, like they were rabbits' feet or diamonds...
"passing through the gills of the world," by Christine
Sikorski:
the river rocks
between its banks
the river threads
past a woman who stands
on the west bank watching
only the river
the pink mouth of a fish opens
to the river
to the swirl of froth
on the surface of the river
the fish travels slowly downstream
pink mouth opening closing
opening to the swirl of froth
the woman walks along the west bank
watching the fish
slide slowly downstream
mouth opening closing
the woman walks upstream
the trees are green
the rocks along the bank
white and scattered with trash
the woman walks
the fish drifts
the river never once changes
the river never once stays the same
all along the river
the gray air makes
the green trees greener
the woman is a tree walking
the fish is a river standing
the woman opens
her pink mouth
to drink the froth
of the gray sky
the fish is a green tree
the woman is a white rock
on the west bank
of the gray river
the green woman
and the pink fish
are the two banks
of the white river
and the one perfect world
scattered with trash
slides on
slides on
through the perfect gray
of the sky
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