Wide-mouthed

A twang pops a hole in the stale air, a pitch just high enough, something Southern or open-plained. I picture my spine concrete, unmoving - I don’t turn toward the voice I naturally lean to. A corn field, with no residents, no machinery reaping. Still, tall stalks that should blister in the sun, but move softly enough to escape a constant ray. I pull my own. 

I’ll take the stairs unless you do. 

The accent trails my weaving, between cars and falling down stairs. I reiterate my vowels in the mirror, wide and obnoxious, and hope for them to stick. Talk, lock, coffee, wide A. I hope for no one to ask me a question, for my pitch to waver and fall into yours. 

I piss off the side of a locked gas station restroom, the Kentucky roadsand goes dark. I round the corner to my car, the belt buckle pulling my waist low. I hear it before I process the words, the slur and save, ‘Mmm, ma’am,’ and the corners of his mouth push out tobacco-stained spit. The back of my throat thickens. He pulls at his jeans, puffed at the crotch, ‘Hello, ma’am,’ the last I hear from the State.

I’m returned to the plain, wide-mouthed. The drawl trickles through the grain, slipping into the breath, and out by the next crop.

Art

Cornfield

Hugh Quinn , United Kingdom

25 W x 35 H x 1 in

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Cornfield/927778/3874531/view