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| Lisa D. Chavez |
| Author of two books of poetry: Destruction Bay and In an Angry Season |
| In an Angry Season They've gone to witness the river's mad descent into spring. The heave and thunder as the ice shakes itself from the shore, the way the frozen slabs--pachyderm grey and similarly sized--shear one into another as the Yukon shudders awake. From a hawk's height the pipeline bridge mocks the river's riot and churn. Perched there, they watch--then his pale hand turns her tawny face to his and they kiss, roar of loosed ice echoing. They are both just nineteen. And now they sit, hands clutching brown bottles, in a one-room cabin turned tavern. A wooden counter, scabbed over with men's names. A naugahyde couch, slouching by the door. One man at the bar, face flat in a puddle of beer. His phlegmy snores. The room choked with smoke. The one they call Dirty Dave is telling a story: "We picked up this squaw hitching her way into town. Weren't no room in the cab, so she crawled in back. I went after her. I said, whatever you hear, boys, don't stop this truck." Laughter. He grins, gap-toothed and mean. Leers at the girl. "I like it when they fight." She shivers. Twists at a strand of her black hair. Her boyfriend draws her closer. Six men--they've been drinking all winter. One girl. One nervous boyfriend. A mining camp a hundred miles or more from town. And Dave stares at the girl. "What do you think of that?" And she thinks: There is so much evil in this world. And she thinks of her hand, squeezing the bottle till it breaks, scraping this man's face to bone with the shards. And she thinks of the river, how in some angry seasons it could not be contained-- bridges snapped like thread, whole villages devoured by the Yukon's flood and fury. And she hears the river shift and growl. |
| Writing: Poems Essays Books Gainful Employment: UNM About Me: Bio Obsessions: Dogs Tattoos Scents Esoterica |
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| photo by Marisa P. Clark |