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Lindsay Thacker

of

Murray, UT, US

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Untitled

by

Lindsay Thacker

Trying to remember what I was
remembering that night driving

home isn't easy because all that I can see now
is the endless, black nothing that was to my right

where an enormous ocean used to be before
the desert drank the water and

the salt ate the desert and
the mountains grew as a result and

that is where you went to before
that night I am trying to

remember.

August 11, 1999

by

Lindsay Thacker

My mother knew when the tornado hit.

In the middle of red lights and traffic
she knew something was going to happen,
and it did.

In a city surrounded by mountains,
--in God's Promised Land, Zion--
it came and my mother felt
the pain of the hundreds hurt and killed,
hundreds of nameless, faceless people,
as if they were all her own children

and I thought about the Jews
and I thought about the blacks
and I thought about the Tibetans
and I wondered who cried for them

She Is

by

Lindsay Thacker

hopelessly
devoted to that
which will not be
devoted to her
("a bony creature
thin with feeding
on itself")
obsessed with
an identity claimed
as her own
(she worships
individuality
as she steals
Me from myself)
laughs at my
tears and then
cries herself
to sleep at night
but
she Is
and always will
Be

Dave

by

Lindsay Thacker

Through the open window
of my car
I heard your song.
I turned, expecting to
see you and your grey eyes.
But instead there was only a
rusty Ford
and its driver with a bad haircut.
The light turned green
and I drove on.