Volume 23, Number 1


Forget the whole fantasia:
ferny evenings, tendrils of small cries
tire swing spinning in the wind,
lashing of the drying willow tree

such vacancy of lawn and hedge
acanthus pink and rue

such wailing from the nursery
such pounding on the felted stair

as you shimmied up the elm,
chopped the tree house
to smithereens,
burned the kindling in the yard
against the city ordinance

dropped the house keys
at the bank
boarded up the red mailbox
sunk the sailboat in the brine
led us in a hobo’s song

loosed the house cat to the wild
leased the field to fox and coon

and took the sonic Interstate
to the sweet end of all roads
the blue way out
the end of title, tithe, and deed.

—Carol Alexander