Thursday, July 28, 2011

STORY-"The Crossing"

I drank some whiskey last night. I walked slowly to my bed and I crawled into a dream. I began chasing you across rolling hills leading down to brushy river bottoms. You changed into a wild Mustang with a mane seemingly made of fire and I became a cowboy riding a white cow pony.
We ran you and I... all night long. We ran until the shadows went from black to blue. I knew with the rising sun, our chase would end.

I remembered you laying in my bed. You said, “I can sleep forever, while you hold me in your arms.”

Your scent fills my memory and perfumes the sheets where we once lay. But holding and keeping are mortal enemies warring in my breast and I can’t hold you and you won’t take my hand.We raced across rolling hills toward brushy river bottoms, your mane fire in the air.

If you love me say, “I love you.” If you love me say, “I do.” But you can’t say “I love you.” And you can’t say, “I do.” And you won’t take my hand…

I rode across the border, looking to learn the face of love.

I remember you laying in bed with your arms around my head, you said, “I can sleep forever.”

I still hold you there in memory’s morning light. But the weather is getting cold, it’s even getting cold down here. The words you told me hang frozen in the air…

I rode a white cow pony chasing you to brushy river bottom land. You splashed across the river and up the far side as the sun stepped over green hills. I rode down to the border to learn the face of love, but you never looked my way. I woke with ice rimmed windows and frost silver hills shinning cold in setting moonlight. I got up and saddled my truck and drove down to the border; to watch sun light dance above the water.

You can’t make someone say I love you and you can’t make them take your hand. The energy to do, to chase, explain or plead, doesn’t do a thing, if the face of your love has crossed the border. I drank some whiskey last night, and crawled into a dream. This morning I drove home and signed the papers. Maybe I will see your face from across the river.

The End

DS Baker


  1. *This piece was inspired by a Lyle Lovett song.

  2. Beautiful. Great read. However: Much like a stroll in a beautiful garden where you stump your toe, I stumbled but didn't fall, over this:

    "I remember you laying in bed with your arms around my head..."

    1) Hens lay, people lie, hence, "lying"
    2) Either "I remember your lying..." or "I remember you, lying...

    Poetic license aside, grammar can be like a wart on Venus' nose.