Fragments for a Triptych
By David Meischen
i.
San Francisco’s delicious chill.
Sand and swings and slides—Bosch
by way of Dr. Seuss, your sons among
these children in motion. Their cries
jangle like a fracas of grackles.
ii.
The odor lifts you
out of your seat, pushes you
up the aisle, your infant son
leaking a trail of stink. Floor space
by the door where you boarded
the aircraft will have to do.
iii.
Your fingers work the wing nut
that holds the spare in place, you
in your Italian suit beneath the van’s
raised hatch, your sons in the back seat.
Shimmering blacktop, cloudless sky.
iv.
Retinas on hiatus, visual data
a scrim you look through, you drift
into pure sound. Children at play—
their noises carry you elsewhere.
v.
Automatic. Automaton.
Unpin. Unpin. The noxious diaper
surrenders to an air sickness bag.
vi.
You drop back into yourself.
This bench. This playground.
Muted circus music drifting
from the carousel. How long
were you gone? Seconds? Minutes?
vii.
Again you set the tire iron.
One at a time the lug nuts resist.
Perspiration pools along the dam
of your glasses, flows over.
Salt sting and blinding sun.
viii.
Your three-year-old has
disappeared among the scrambling
children, their noises suddenly like silence.
ix.
Forefinger and thumb, you
insert a pin into the fresh diaper corner,
click the point into place. Scent of line-dried cotton.
x.
Panic itches at the edges
of your vision, eyes sweeping
the playground while memory lights
on a moment in Blow-Up. A woman vanishes,
movie magic abducting her. The camera stops,
the actress steps away from gathered extras,
the film rolls again.
xi.
A current moves along the neural
pathways of your arm, restraint snapping
loose at the elbow. Against the bright white day,
your tire iron spins. From the windows
of the van, your sons bear witness.
xii.
The playground swirls
and does not stop,
does not reveal the child,
the name you have by heart.
About the Author:
David Meischen has been writing poetry and teaching the writing of poetry for thirty-five years. Anyone’s Son, Meischen’s debut poetry collection, is forthcoming from 3: A Taos Press. A Pushcart honoree, with a personal essay in Pushcart Prize XLII, he received the 2017 Kay Cattarulla Award for Best Short Story from the Texas Institute of Letters. Meischen has fiction, nonfiction, or poetry in Assaracus, Copper Nickel, Gertrude, Pan’s Ex: Queer Sex Poetry, Southern Poetry Review, and elsewhere. Co-founder and Managing Editor of Dos Gatos Press, Meischen lives in Albuquerque, NM, with his husband—also his co-publisher and co-editor—Scott Wiggerman.
About All Accounts:
All Accounts and Mixture is an annual online feature celebrating the work of LGBTQIA+ writers and artists. For this series, we seek work from authors who self-identify as "queer," while acknowledging that this designation is subjective and highly personal. Our goal is to provide a forum for writers whose voices might be mis- or underrepresented by the literary mainstream. Submissions are open from June 1 to July 1. Poetry, prose, visual art, reviews and interviews will all be considered. Visit Submittable for more details.