Winona Ryder’s Boyfriend

Runaway Train is the name of the song.
I used to watch the music video on MTV.

Sat cross-legged beside my sister
on the carpet in the dining room.

I haven’t told you how I saw the lead
singer once. He had dreadlocks back then.

Was attractive, even in person. It’s summer now.
The vineyards are full of themselves,

the air, hot to touch. I take the backroads
home to avoid the tourists. My hand

grips the wheel. The other lingers
on the dial. I can still see him

walking with the famous actress
past the pews. It was evening.

I don’t remember if I had school the next
day or if I cried. The old Catholic church

on Liberty with the stained glass
was packed. My mom and dad were there,

and my sister, of course. And the murdered
girl’s mother who looked right at me

as I made my way towards the door.
I turn the car down my road, and

soon will greet the people who love me.
We’ll make dinner. Read books

before bed. I was just a child. I had no idea
what all this meant. I thought

I did, but I didn’t. Who would have thought

I’d be thinking about the funeral all these years
later. And her mother’s face.

Aren’t you a cute one is what she said to me
before I left. She even touched my cheek.

Emily Jern-Miller received her MFA from California College of the Arts, and is the author of the chapbook, You Are Not a Bird (Dancing Girl Press). Her poems have appeared in The Journal, Poor Claudia, and Narrative, among others. She lives in a small town in Northern California, not too far from where she grew up.