The woman talks out one half of her face
clenching her fists near the sides of her thighs.
“I’m going to see my killing relatives,
that’s right. They better watch out
if they know what’s good for them.
My killing relatives. That’s right.”
She punches a finger into the air,
looks at me sideways and says,
“I got a restraining order out on them.
A restraining order out on my killing relatives, that’s right.”
She looks away and rocks back and forth,
moving her tongue around inside her crooked mouth.
Her eyes shift under sweeping gray bangs.
“They been trying to murder me my whole life.”
I ask the obvious,
“Why are you going to see them,
if you have a restraining order against them?”
“I’m gonna sue their ass in court, that’s what.
In court. That’s right. My killing relatives.”
She accuses the air with a glare and persists,
“My killing relatives.” followed by “That’s right.”
shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Again and again she agitates her way through the world
lined up behind me for the late night cross-country bus
home, to Montana. Land that I love. That's right.