The lettered streets stop short of K. Knock on the garden of the ruined gate. Beyond us cold orchards and kerosene lanterns, frozen Delicious asleep on the tree. Past Anchor Island, past Petulant Ridge, past the failing pedestrian bridge. You’ve brought weather from the places you go. A girl could get lost among handfuls of loose tea. Two men in scrubs ferry a trolley, body without heart or heat. An airplane lands on frozen water, windows white with winter geese. The pet sitter decorates houses with dust, flowery pillows from her dead daughter's stuff. I'm your only possessive S. Brace yourself if you love someone else.
Carol Guess is the author of seven books of poetry and prose, as well as Doll Studies: Forensics, forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press. Find out more: www.carolguess.blogspot.com