Refugee Year
There was war somewhere on the news.
Every day. In America. On the border.War locked away in the darkened envelope
of our stirred, combusting minds.Winter arrived late with its diaphanous
wings & unsalted sidewalks bandagedwith new snow. Dish racks I arranged in
the pantry glistened with dry crusts wherebaked bread or croissants should have
been. In the week of power outages,in the year of hunger, all we had was love,
its fused & infinite grammar, its wet eyes& tenderness for days.