Hillary Keel: Callicoon Night

Fall '12 TOC

I walk the American
night of Callicoon
its houses lit up
the Milky Way flourishes
and bulby stars glob above
pointing the way.
American Callicoon shines
misty and
living rooms, a light
on the staircase, a man
sits on a couch, a girl
at a table nods her head
by lamp, someone reads
blue light.
places that are homes
under inky sky,
the town chugs across
bridge, over street like
Mulligan's steam shovel, the
forest lurks quiet, flickers
American Callicoon,
can we barter?
I am here, but
you don't notice.
I dream of bedbugs.
Is it my age?
my da-da vocabulary?
I don't know who to vote for next week, don't
know which state to vote in.
American Callicoon, you
are home to refrigerators, tractors
checkbooks and some funky cabinets, Sal
tells me. Your
oatmeal light beams from
porches, your dream has columns, is
spikey and the rectangular of parking. Your
wooded skyline blinks dotted like city along
river, which washes over
stone and October fish, speaking a dialect
you don't utter.
Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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