The Gunnywolf loved secrets. How they curved
and thickened and beat the air green.
The problem with memory, he said,
was how once you told it, then the telling
was all that survived. Poof the actual thing.
He was lying on his back, whittling
leg-bones into beads to take to market.
Ryan Gosling’s face on half, strangers on the rest.
Sometimes people choose a face that reminds them
of their father. Sometimes people fill a whole bag
with the faces then make a run for it. But of course
the Gunnywolf catches up. He’s been selling beads
for years now; look closer and there they are
around the neck of everyone you know. Ryan
Gosling Ryan Gosling when two people come together,
face against face. Oh the secrets taste
like salt, they gather like wool. An engine
trying to turn over. An engine in the water
trying to turn over.
© 2016 Megan Snyder-Camp