Post Road Magazine #26


Laura Kasischke

No windstorm on the moon

Nothing ever moves

Childhood Sunday afternoons:

Just try to skip a stone across the waves
of one of those sad little February lakes:

Lake of the Library, Closed
Lake of So Many Bottles in the Basement
     that if you drink one or two
     no one will ever notice. Oh
     only half a century later or so

I consider dialing the number
of my childhood telephone
just to see who's home:

But, I don't:

Little family

Outside, snow

Too warm in the house
to wear a sweater
Nowhere to go

If it rings now, they'll
     also have to know:

All over
All over
No one will ever again be home

Leave them alone
Leave them alone

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