Blue Yodel

by Frank Stanford

The girl in the black sweater
Lives alone with her child
On a small body of water
And is not married

She is building a cabin
Back in the woods
But for now she and the boy
Live in a houseboat
That lists off into the evening

When you go down
The goddamn roads to her place
You know
You've been somewhere

But she is always gone
When you get there

The only place she frequents
Is a tavern in the cove
What they call it is The Quiet Night

In the afternoons I went there
Wanting to get a look at her
No way

So I took to drinking
Later than I should
And the man who claimed he ran the dive
Told me the tale
Of the girl in the black sweater

It was late when I left

He helped me in my boat
And I rowed the liquor out
Of my blood all night
Going home the moon was letting
Out its mooring rope.

When I passed them asleep in their boathouse
Her sweater dried in the air
Like a black flag.

*
(From The Light the Dead See, University of Arkansas Press, 1991)