country in headphones
bus stop
light rain my wool damp
telephone pole wood flakes
sticking to me
the monuments of
Old Town loving
me the ice
on the river swollen
and sunken with
gray puddles
water spilling heavy
and green over the dam
Indian man and dog
get out of the
taxi across the
street slowly talk
to the driver a long
time then
come over to
me holy skinned
and alive
talking about renovating
apartment across
the street
how people come
up and get him
stoned and he
has to drink
a lot because of
the dust, “by the
time I get home I
can hardly cook dinner,”
he laughs bubbly
and says, “I got
a green eye for
St. Patrick’s Day, not
a black eye,
I tried to steal
his pot of gold
and the little guy
shot green at me,”
he laughs and walks
in front of the bus
I got a dead aunty
for St. Patrick’s Day—
Grace dying
in a crowded
Californian restaurant
the generations of
sunny pool swimmers
from my family ended
what must it be
like spirit rising
from hot desert
from Asian strip malls
spring roles
pottery seafood
to die in a
sandwich shop
with nephew
looking on