Spring snow
Has
made liars of us all, breath steaming
like coils of chimney smoke
sheathing
the blocks of factories who churn
out
compressed sand, bricks of indifference,
paving
stones to sink at smart angles,
scar
sidewalks for a skip-hop game
previously
unplayed above wetlands,
kids
on scooters , wheels stuck
in
the muck between plans
of
rotting pressboard
and
wounded asphalt,
wait
for something solid to lead them.
Dead
rendering plant bleats its low horn
into
the wind, car parts in broken lots
dream
of automation, robots
quivering
across salted earth.
Dumb
luck, small rubber tire
snags
on the city’s grid, a kid flies
ass
over teakettle over ass over
Toddler
sniffs against the lingering
cold,
fingers wound
through
the metal diamonds
of
a softball fence.
Snow-mist
lifts from the outfield,
mysterious
and foreign
as
melting dog shit.
Anita Dolman’s debut short fiction
collection, Lost Enough, has just been published by Morning Rain Publishing. Her
poetry and fiction have appeared in journals and anthologies throughout North
America, including, recently, Matrix Magazine, Ottawater, Bywords; and Triangulation: Lost Voices. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, and was a
finalist for the 2015 Alberta Magazine Award for fiction. Follow her on Twitter
@ajdolman.
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