American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 81

Dav i d Lu r a s c h i

Seven Cans Of Goya On Pete’s Foot, 2012

Emma Furman
Saccades
There is no happy childhood. You just grow
away. Stars surface on still water. All the
“I love you”s. There’s a parking lot at
the bottom of this canyon. Someone saying
“I could have talked to a wall that night.”
Someone saying “You’re an ass. A total
ass.” At the same time every night,
the street lights turn on. I know
I am approaching the end of my depth,
when a horse, a literal horse, trots out
from the dark in photographic reality.

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