Jillian Weise

Laid-Over in Cincinnati with Help From Faulkner

En route to a conference            on the disenfranchised self,                     she called a man she'd only met through his essays, dizzied           by colon and double dash.                     He really knew how to break a sentence down to its knees.           He had read her treatise on                     Dewey Dell. He whispered I am picking into your sack           as she latched the Terminal                     C stall. What are you wearing? Overalls, flannel, straw hat.           We are in the field, we are                     fashionably late for dinner, and there is a sunset—           No, there is not a sunset.                     I thought women fantasized about the sky? Never           mind, I'm close, go back to that                     one line. I am picking and picking and picking into your sack.

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