Heart of an Awl
BY IRA GOGA
Coeur d’Alene, ID
I’ve forgotten most of the dialogue.
You looked like you needed help
or I think most people probably want to help.
Lots of rides were like this, discussing
the morality of humankind. We passed
a field bulldozed. A fresh steeple
shrouded in scaffolding, flooded
with light. A temple. Gold angel atop.
He told me about his race,
people of the covenant, blood-
line of Israelites, the left hand of the Lord
guiding them here. Beside the highway,
the river eating its banks. God’s punishment.
He said he would’ve preferred me dead,
but he didn’t know it. Us alone and nothing
keeping his violence from me,
except his unknowing. He was like a child,
quick to cry out when displeased.
And he was a poet. Read me Rilke
from his phone while he drove.
Took me to an underpass to keep me safe
from the rain. This was before
morning, when the men in riot gear,
thirty one of them, neo-nazis,
were arrested outside the pride parade.
I was gone by then. I was not lucky.
When I turned in my sleep, bats
cried out like dark bells.
