Ira Glass. A Love Letter in Three Acts by D. Gilson

Today I drive and listen to This American Life, a weekly radio show from 90.5, WBEZ Chicago, a show hosted by Ira Glass; a consistency in my life for the last decade. I drive south of Pittsburgh, through the hills dotted with steel mills and coal mines, through the hills lined with rivers and rivertowns, through the hills just on the threshold of autumn.
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Now, I don’t know
if she saw me
when she decided to

bend over to
pick up her bag and go

past the last tree

on the right.
My eyes did not seem
responsible

for the light
of a fresh sunbeam
that caught her full

and quite heavenly
body (smooth –
bedded or tanned

like warm sand).

rain rain rain with a chance of flooding dirt and the modern blown up cottages sliding down the earth. there's a draught in oklahoma and starving thoroughbreds. there's my mama with new easter egg chickens.

there's (was) a monk in Beijing, but he left with suggestive flames and a surfer who drowned during Mavericks pacific ocean games. there's me learning the same sea trade.

there's my baby little brother who cannot answer missile calls and a 40 foot stretch of highway one falls. and there's always someone jumping off the golden gate bridge.