Marcela Sulak

Pure Oil Road, 1954

It was a time of “rough
with her” husbands and sweet birdsong
of wings spread, flapping fields and bladed
clouds, of sewing baby bonnets
and blankets, of harrier falcons
surveying the landscape during elections 
for justice of the peace.
Youngest sons taking mothers
on back country roads
to teach them to drive and neither of them
ever speaking of it after.
The decades dense with unspeakable things
so now the aunt knife-
thin beneath the blankets
“well, there's nothing much to speak
about, because I'm just sleeping 
but thank you for visiting, 
nonetheless.” Still her hair holds hardly
any silver. Once the uncle herded cattle
to the train depot at the nearest town,
hunkering under the belly of a horse
when the wild mustangs spooked.
Some fathers remember nothing
of their childhood, not a single
meal they ate, not what
his mother was like.

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