434 wires unlock the land double-decked suspension hot for incandescence a 14 lane corridor top exposed stiffening truss to come over
limbs sling across the chasm 100 million self propelled cells carbon hardening soft iron opens all 29 tolls bottom enclosed can’t afford
Alexandra Watson is a poet and fiction writer from Syracuse, New York. She serves as executive editor of Apogee Journal, a publication amplifying historically marginalized voices. She teaches writing at Barnard College in New York City.
Had I not chosen to live there— / among the oaks and birches, / trees I’d only ever seen in poems / until then…spruce, pine, / among the jack-in-the-pulpit / (though I much preferred “lady slipper”) / the tiger lily, milkweed, the chickadee / and blue jay, even the pesky squirrel
JUAN DE DIOS GARCÍA He speaks to us of Finnish lakes, of a dialect populated by birds and fruit, of high wooded hills, perpetual snow, a petroleum sky. “In the north they’re raised on melancholy,” he says, “and their dead weigh more than those from here.” He speaks of a Greek father and a war.
Like two passengers / in a wrecked automobile: // our eyes are fixed / on the sonogram screen— // an upside-down window / with no wiper blade // to sweep away the rain— / as the technician // inserts a long probe /
and whispers, Come on. //
Come on. The storm /