Lonesome Cajun Fiddle

all quiet, the night dry,
Jack sitting on the swing,
his back porch motions
captured by shadows on the dark
blue kitchen walls,
his bare back hunched forward,
his eyes vacant, inward,
thinking, she knew,
of her ex-husband.

he was always like this now, mourning
for Katie and masking
his temper with soft sounds,
his stereo, softly, playing
Louisiana music, stuff he
heard traveling years back,
near bayous with built-in sadness,
looking for his woman and
finding her here in Chapel Hill
not far from where his dad took sick and died,
twenty years ago, wiring buildings
at the college, and
rooting for the Tarheels.

he learned the power of electricity from his dad
but wasn’t like him
in other ways,
not carefree, just that dark
mood Jen had learned to soothe,
her body riding him
late at night, the windows
open to the loudness
of insects, his own body awakening,
reacting in rhythm as she smiled,
only way she knew
to stop his killing thoughts.