Laura Henriksen

Poem


Every curse and every wish came true
just like she said they would. I tried
to go, but here I am. I thought I was
on a road until I looked down. In my
heaven, all feelings are met and matched
with equal intensity, all the angels either
play guitar really well or not at all.
And they’re always with you, nodding
in encouragement like, Go on. It was
in the name of love, it was in the name
of science. It was then I saw I was
crossing a distant bridge, all things
unfixed. I listened to the same song
over and over, testing my devotion,
ready for all pleasure to buckle
under need. I could sit on this hill
and watch the trucks go by forever,
all day. They say it’ll be worth it,
but I don’t know what it is. Home
is where the flower patterns blur
into faces mouthing “No future”
as you try to fall asleep. What was it
you said? Destiny is what happened.
But what if it didn’t have to?
All that singing, for what?

Silver Strike Lanes


Doing Sedona’s powerful
attunement exercises
religiously. Talks a lot,
comes on cold, watered
down. Goes driving
into this night
unchallenged.

In the hallway, put it back.
Drawn strength from the 
drinking fountain in the
hypostyle’s middle. Problems,
stand back on the deck and
make peace with your problems.
Finish your beer, looking out
over Browns Woods,
the wildlife. Complete
directions never occurred
to me to mention.

See the half moon over the Western Beef,
I understand, I mean, I appreciate
the suffering. Not your average
payphone apostle. All the remaining
agape after the campers drive off,
crazed in the air conditioning, stars
screaming, if you find yourself
falling short in a Chevy or
a Ford, right above you.
Meanwhile thoughts of Silver
Strike Lanes roll over me,
that three-game series. Calling
you at your daytime number, lost 
rhinestone from whose saddle.

Got a date with destiny’s taxidermist.
In the kitchen, washing dishes, I can
see for days and days. It’s an evil
village where our talk goes the distance.
With every new effort another noise
complaint. My real people threshold
totally devalued. High water devil.

It’s a far cry from this kind of life
dirt in your pocket. In your hand.
I could hear its footsteps 
on the opposite side 
of the house, quicker 
than a deer head falling 
off the wall. Remember, 
summer’s what you make it.
I made you this diorama 
of the seafloor. I don’t know
how to tell you how crazy
I feel about Heart.

Poem


Save yourself, Jennifer, or maybe
free yourself, it was hard to translate 
she was laughing so much. Do you ever 
suddenly recall with dreadful clarity
a minor fear from your childhood 
like the shadow cast by a certain 
banister, branch, or hall light?

Over the garden wall, sweating, as if 
so captivated by a single thought all other 
thoughts and feelings lost meaning. 
Wait, I’m coming too, I say, though 
no one could possibly wait long enough.

I hollowed out the whole world and still 
could see you echoed in mountain form, 
shimmering below the lake. Nothing mattered. 
Regard, the valley. Every failed attempt 
at escape only brought us closer. I came here 
to play organ in your church and clean 
your beach house, how was I to know 
that you had neither? I think I just never 
recovered from the disappointment that
the searchlights only brought me 
to another used car lot.