Jo Ann Verburg photograph ©2022
Maybe I am here
and there you are, sort of, like a row of trophies seen through a picture window, very green-gold, but anymore, Lemon Drop, I am not a woman who can sleep with whomever she wants. In the house
my skin jitters, like a wind picking up across a lake, and I keep opening windows hello? hello? but the sun just sticks, lozenged in trees wind-stripped. Some days, things
look strangely: a single shoe on the sidewalk or a pot, in sunlight, on a stoop. Some days nothing will jimmy the vision. Pop Tart, what I’m trying to say is I saw mountains in the rear-view too, I saw the girl running into the street. Nightly, headlights move across the neighbor’s field, empty as a nightgown, or they hover, like someone standing with a set of keys.
-Katherine Northrop
originally published in Sugarhouse, vol. 22
Audio recording of the poem here.
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