For the Good Life is Out There Somewhere


The neighbors are brawling:

Angry woman shouting, can’t say what,

Toddler wailing, things being shoved against walls.

I sit still, hand on my book, eyes without focus.


I want to tell you about it, like you can stop it.

But having no means to do so myself,

I’d rather you be out, charming everyone, out of sight.

Maybe I’ll do yoga, or (now that I have a stove) make myself tea.


Pulled back to my environment by faint sirens,

I pull up the shades, make myself visible to late night walkers.

Maybe I’ll sit on the sill and just let Sunday

Have its final say.


2 comments on “For the Good Life is Out There Somewhere

  1. Emily says:

    Excerpt from a 2008 poem:

    Stopped again outside of a window near the Family Dollar,
    a couple scream at each other. I can see her face,
    she is angry but not sad. He sounds tired somewhere
    out of sight. I reach out to her in my mind,
    a voyeur associating with his only present company.
    “Please remember the children, asleep upstairs. Please remember
    the night, asleep, and the dust on the floorboards.”

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