Star Ford

Essays on lots of things since 1989.

Autistic Greetings (poem)

I sat at her table because I saw a little into her.
She looked up and let me know I was allowed in. She could not conceal or reveal.
That was back then in the early moments when the speckled design of the table top had significance and we were holding our breath.
Earlier in my life my guideposts has blown over and I had gotten covered in paint, and she had gotten struck so many times.

I climbed a mountain and said hi
and by that I meant let’s skip the first time and go to the second. Will you grant me that privilege?
A risk with complex misgivings was plainly spilled on the table.
Her reflection in the wreakage tenderly illuminated my old struggles; the napkin dispenser lost its stature.

Now it is her turn to climb her mountain to look for a word, and possibly even say it.
She is determined to complete this greeting under the impossibly competing demands of full disclosure (her only option)
and ritual (a shield? a weapon?)

She chooses a different word: she says hi and by that she means yes.
Outside, two halting tractors, one older than the other, collide in a place with no road.
With such coarse controls, the unpracticed drivers cannot follow the simplest choreography.
In the aftermath, we exhale for the first time; objects previously suspended return to dust.

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