Northern

She believes in triangles—
would rather not
triangulate. Hates crowds,

loves New York. Sees
no contradiction. The third
sister balances

textures with the sound
of a quarter moon
hitting the February sky

over Loring Park. What lies between
Minnesota and New England

are all the stories
she has left
to tell.

Flat Dissolution

One hundred tornadoes. A fifth
of American Honey poured
on a stranger’s Raisin Bran. A heartland

spreads and evaporates
without any salt
in the water. It could happen

here—could happen
anywhere. It has.
That urban myth

protecting the urban
center—debunked. One hundred
tornadoes. A fifth of anything

clear. Street game
disasters.

Visit

To climb this side
of a grassy knoll in platform 

heels, to find relief
in the reliable 

presence of a Noguchi
sculpture outdoors 

in the Midwest, to not get lost
in America, is to be 

this alone
on wooden planks unafraid 

of those who barrel through,
of a sunset she can’t 

quite see.  It is to fear only 

the absence 

she recognizes in trees’
fluttering spiked leaves.