Where the edges of homes run together
an incision of alley just wide enough
for bodies to pass without scraping
the paint off the bricks. A flowerless
plot of raised earth meant for greener
things. If those are strays praying wildly
with their teeth, it’s not to the moon.
I don’t think we’d recognize that god
anymore. The sky’s strung with LED
lights, held together by cords we un-
plug to bring us closer to night.
In other rooms, men & women &
children & love being made as
efficiently as possible before
limbs untangle to fists. Shattered
dishes. Ghosts waiting to be born.
From other rooms, the delicate scent
of cardamom & patience. Of someday.
& such a splendid contrast of flags
Duct taped to every window
that seals up the cracks & helps
keep most of our heat inside.
John Sibley Williams is the author of seven poetry collections, including Scale Model of a Country at Dawn (Cider Press Review Poetry Award), The Drowning House (Elixir Press Poetry Award), As One Fire Consumes Another (Orison Poetry Prize), Skin Memory (Backwaters Prize, University of Nebraska Press), and Summon (JuxtaProse Chapbook Prize). A twenty-six-time Pushcart nominee, John is the winner of numerous awards, including the Wabash Prize for Poetry, Philip Booth Award, Phyllis Smart-Young Prize, and Laux/Millar Prize. He serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review and founder of the Caesura Poetry Workshop series. Previous publishing credits include Best American Poetry, Yale Review, Verse Daily, North American Review, Prairie Schooner, and TriQuarterly.
