E.C. Gannon
An Ode to Tallahassee, Florida
If Tallahassee were a woman, I’d marry her,
and we’d live together in a double-wide in
a town about 20 minutes away from X.
She’d be a smoker. She’d wear a crop top
and cutoff shorts, both a size and a half too
small. She’d dye her hair often enough for it
to fry, thin, fall out of her head. She’d make
the best food I’d have ever eaten and enough
of it to feed the whole trailer park. You never
know if people are gonna stop by, she’d say
and walk out the screen door; she would never
smoke inside. And no one would ever really
stop by either. She’d stop undressing in front
of me after our tenth wedding anniversary.
I’d never ask why. I’d convince myself I was
afraid of the answer. Maybe I wouldn’t really
care. We’d have sex in front of the TV on
Tuesdays and Fridays so she wouldn’t miss
anything. I’d compete for her attention with
paternity tests and pawn dealers. I’d try to
explain that any time I’d hear one of the shows’
opening themes, I’d start to get excited, but
she’d get caught up on the fact that I didn’t
know the breed of Pavlov’s dogs. A pomeranian
is a whole lot different from a rottweiler, she’d say
and step outside to smoke before I could reply
not in principle. Not in psychology. She’d get
sick and refuse to go to the doctor because she
would be afraid of her own mortality. This fear
would be abstract, inarticulable. She’d die of
lung cancer in her late fifties, and every day
for the rest of my life, I’d walk the mile to the
cemetery, unfold my lawn chair, and read
passages of Whitman to her headstone, and though
I don’t believe in anything, if my hypothetical,
metaphorical, dead wife could hear the rhythm
of “Song of Myself,” she’d stop her haunting and
listen not because she’d understand but because
she’d know how much it had always meant to me.
E.C. Gannon was born in Boston and raised in New Hampshire and is now pursuing a degree in English and political science at Florida State University. Her work has previously been published in The Kudzu Review and Oddball Magazine.