Souvenirs From Wisconsin

I don’t want to go back there, but I know
the answer is somewhere in Wisconsin.
I’ve fallen away from that state, broken,
a piece of glass held to a candle’s glow.

A mirror fragment. A reflected show.
That’s me, but that isn’t the Magdalene
holding me. No Grail here, just tea and sin.
And the Wisconsin state line. I won’t go.

That isn’t the Magdalene, that woman
at the mirror, but she drove the death trip
the same way I did. Fog. Cheese shops. Highways.

She doesn’t offer the Grail, that woman,
not the answer, but what she gives, I’ll sip.
We are souvenirs from the death trip maze.

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Wisconsin Death Trip