Friday, June 6, 2014


The Dissolution of Wall Street (M.A. Reilly, 2009)
         - Ryan Teitman
Some mornings, the clouds 
settle rooftop low,
           holding us in place
like a specimen slide.

I spend my days
wondering how a hammer
           weighs the hand
that holds it,

or how the starlings apron
the stoplights
           at Alcatraz
and Adeline.

A glassworker told me once
that she could tell
           by the scars
who bandages their fingers

and who kisses closed
the wounds. I don't
           know how
my father woke

hours before sunrise
each morning and worked
           until long past sunset.
Sleep was a country

to retire to, an Ecuador.
I live where the light is
           thin, and clothes us
like linen.

In the hills above town,
a black snake scrawls
           across the path
like a signature.

I still have countries
left to discover, and ballets
           of work
for my hands to learn.

The Southern Review 
Spring 2014

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