Rick Bursky
Assume Everything I Say is True
We smoked Arturo Fuentes, sipped vodka gimlets.
She handed me a dictionary, said pick a word
But don’t tell me … we were on the verge of a magic trick.
The plan was to be each other’s hero,
Had rehearsed the role for years, finally
Our time had come. We were about to become
Intimacy’s broken glass, something that cuts you, but leaves you
Unsure if you want to stop the bleeding.
Our plan was to never talk about the hour
Before or the hour that would follow.
Some stories are more important than others.
Telling this one is a struggle; it needs more time to marinate.
Again, we were on the verge of a magic trick.
The next morning, damaged clouds, both stratus
And altocumulus, drifted out to sea; and vodka
Shrank the dura mater, squeezing the brain;
And the bet we made, who would forget the other first …
One of us would apologize, the other would pound their chest.
Conduit, Saint Paul, MN, No. 32, Summer 2022