Rumors say the guys from the volunteer
fire department called the infant that because
of his footie pajamas the color of the ocean
none of them had seen. The delicate sailboat-
pattern somehow suggested he could float
away. With his bright raspberry lips,
the coroner declared carbon monoxide
poisoning. It’s likely the car he traveled
in had holes in the floorboards, that the baby
slept in the backseat under a soft blanket,
no seatbelt laws, back then, to abide by.
When they stopped and realized
what had happened, those responsible
panicked. Perhaps they pleaded forgiveness
and kissed his forehead before placing
him in a field of fresh snow with moonlight
glistening across the waves of frozen
drifts. Afterwards, a farmer checking
cattle saw a bit of fabric playing hide-
and-go-seek behind tufts of bluestem.
Enough color to make him wonder,
enough to steer him in that direction.
DANA SALVADOR’S work has been featured in The Sun, Prairie Schooner, North American Review, Flyway, Water~Stone Review, Red Rock Review, and North Dakota Quarterly, among others. Additionally, she’s the recipient of a Vogelstein Foundation Grant and the recipient of the Dobler Poetry Award.
