by

Michael Dylan Welch
Tanya McDonald

 

trailer park     a flat of seedlings on a rusted Chevy

ospreys nesting on the new cell tower

the waterfall’s fall straight into the ocean

winded     halfway up the lighthouse steps

easing away from the rumble strip     day moon

a twig balances on the telephone wire

among the bills a baby shower invitation

the settlers’ cemetery freshly mowed

threading one daisy stem into another     the principal

a satellite streaks between night hills

Mother stirs her tea with a garage sale spoon

the obsidian netsuke cracked on the mantle

a faded blue ribbon from the county fair egg toss

in the airplane magazine an air sickness bag

clicking past the Discovery Channel     Shark Week

the sex ed book overdue at the library

“Nights in White Satin” drifts through our candle smoke

a box of love letters down from the attic

in front of the old couple’s house     a pair of snow angels

melting icicles     the vacancy sign flickers on

the pachinko parlour after closing     a jangle of keys

the Get Out of Jail Free card dog-eared

on the dining room table the widow refolds her flag

another day crossed off on the bridges calendar

in my dream top down in the carwash

a moth lands on her discarded blouse

the construction crane in pieces on an 18-wheeler

laburnum blossoms dangling against blue sky

a strawberry stuck in the milkshake straw

scenic route     the text message unsent

at the top of the ramp, the skateboarder straightens her ponytail

beads scattering from a friendship bracelet

a Frisbee sails over the neighbor’s fence

my online banking password     ah, I remember it

cherry petals land in the baptismal font

a rainbow flag flown at city hall