Could Have Been Foss

She might become a square foot
gardener. Her beds

raised and compact, she tends
to her slopes

as intensely as she used to
roll down them.

Middletown, CT

Scene of accidents
in deep thought to be cracked apart
for easy turn over
another examination into the least lies
of poets before an absinthe
conversation between all of us and sidewalk concrete
the way it got slapped
down for one of us to greet at midnight.
It was a wider door
I never knew could be opened till she leaned in
and dozens followed
behind so many more watching from balconies
labeled by decade
so no one forgets. And a hill to tuck
and roll down that last
night before strutting on out. There’s no return
to that position—the center
of gravity has shifted as it must.