Steam rises from the grates at night.
See the light through. See
the photographers snatch the lighted clouds.
“We look forward to fighting these charges”
It turns on the line in the slush, the tentative
claws in the inch between the door
and the floor, nothing rises for long. Snapshot
spotters webbing the city where no lights
remain and no plows venture but the snow
is not untouched because we are alive.
What are these? “The wounds
I have received at the house of my friends.”
Suzanne Fischer is a historian and writer living in Oakland.
Ladowich Magazine is available in the Apple Newsstand — https://t.co/bhbBwDr0F9 — offering just enough poetry and one longread a month. This poem appears in issue six, arriving in time to keep you company on your Thanksgiving travels.
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