| Near midnight I’m held hostage to the hazy upshot in the corner velvet near a laced up tree and curious how I got here. What a crowd! I think and I think I should hoard my stash in my shoe. Did you catch the census takers trying to autocorrect the shelterbelt out of my history when meanwhile I’ve been fending off elements since I first showed up at this latitude so I don’t trust easy. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 you ask me outside where the music dims against the complicated bramble and I love how the moon is gilding the rusted basketball hoop in the driveway and bouncing off the sheen of the rubber tree and onto this fable in a city that bleeds its saline soil into another difficult year. Copyright © 2014 by Lynn Melnick. Used with permission of the author. |
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