Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

there was a lull today in the churning of rubber as a young girl remembers a truck that has dissapeared from her realm of experience.  dissapeared from their driveway long ago, whether or not it still hums along some back road by the coast is a pleasant but irrelevant thought as it is dead to her and with it took many a moment.

its two doors saw the insides of infants spindlings. it raced to the sand and conquered fields of tulips and lilac hair. at one point the truck was said to have held all of the wishes small walrusses mull over in their tusks, all the whimsy present in scattered kites and ocean glory.  it bounced over cobbles, diced over the leaves, sat jauntily resting in the rays by the bright house, its bed filled with crisp fall sticks or christmas trees.

it left behind a family that wanted to hold onto all of the memories squished in between the cracks of the seats, that played out on the windshield with joy; traversing over and over again in their heads of what chipped the paint that one time over the right wheel, or the blood from the scraped knee on the floor. it took away the reality of those memories, leaving their visions of past entropy to reside even more far off to the left side of the netherworld, fog nebuli and evening globe lights interchanging in the backs of skulls.  the mother reached to touch the side of a time held in blue paint when things were simple enough that contentment could be equated with a truck.