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.

Mills—No Barns

No part of this story begins
in a barn. Stalks

of rhubarb become
site non-specific

art in the right
urban hands. A brand

name that uses the color
green may harm

more than tired eyes. Plato
was a man

before a town. The river
will flow with or without

its name spelled
out in blue

on a map
with mills—no barns.


Hours before sipping iced raspberry
green tea (the color
of irresistible smiles), she walked
the trail leading out

of town. Began with listening to the first
song on the first album Uncle
Tupelo recorded. Twenty
years ago today, she was still

not here. She believes
in increments. Wonders what happened
to all the percolators. In this green
café, the view of the old CC

across the street zigzags
off the map.