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Poems on Place (After Makesha Evans)

Poems collected from participants in Dave Johnson’s 10*10*10 Video Workshops!

Episode 2: Caribbean Poetry and Place

Where We
We mix mudpies
In the dark sand
In grandma’s front yard
Under the sycamore tree
And you tell me You are baking blueberry
And I tell you mine is shoefly pie!

-Dave Johnson


Where we don’t worry.

Where we are forever.

In Rome, roaming the past, building a future.
In Curaçao, sun-shining, sea-seeing a glittering path ahead.
At Home, together, gathering, nesting, vesting for later years.

Where time slides by in paper and wood, cotton and candy.

Not month-by-month.
Not test by test.
Not half alive and halfway dead.

Where we were.

-Chris Shearer

Where We

We ascend into gold fields
their pale green tips
singing, flowing to the
rhythm of harmony itself
where fungal grounds reveal themselves
along crystal river beds
inviting us to release our mud
where we ascend still
guided by a furry companion
we’re allowed to open ourselves
my heart bearing witness
to the powerful mystery of source
-John Clifton
MD Candidate, Class of 2023

University of Maryland School of Medicine

Where We
Walk along the moonscape of the outer world,
not seeing the crabs crawling after us. There are
funnel flowers, purple and deep,
trailing behind.

We pick up bubble shells, and see
our laughing faces reflected. The ground is marble sand,
and if we pack it all together, we can

make a Nike of Samothrace standing in halls of pink marble
and ponder what this austere, sinuate damsel speaks to us?
and where her victory lies

We try to imagine the shores where the waves pound
and the scent the algae carry. We are swept away
by surging ridges of salt water, and our weeping overflows the basin.

There are birds, blue and lavender: the orange beaks
peck their way through our dreams and
we float up past the stars and into the black ice.

And never look back.

-Lenore Rosenberg

for Kashimir
Where we
plot to make it back to the Bronx
the rusty abandoned bike
delights us both
jubilation – free at last
yet upon closer inspection
we realize
no training wheels.

-Yasmine Lancaster

After Makesha Evans’ poem, “Where We”
where we stand on a tightrope
clock face flags possibility of flounder
where human sea swells and choked
skimmers sink dreams of one
day becoming catamarans

-Camden Zyler

Where We
Where we went paddle boarding and I kept falling over
Where we tasted the salty water when we fell over
Where we see aa blue footed booby, the bright blue feet standing out next to the dark rocks
Where we sleep on aa boat and sometimes get seasick
Where we see frigate birds, their chests popping out like big red heat balloons

-Viola Burian-Schneider

Where We…
We were on top of the world once
Hey do you remember?
We stared at the stark sky
Under the moonlight tree
Where we lay-
covered in stardust.

We wished and dreamed
For the Fable to come true.
On top of the highest tower
Where we bud up a crystal
And lit up into a new dawn
Hey do you remember,
those were the times?

-Nanzib C.

Where we…
Where we feel like strangers,
exploring the new world as little kids,
knowing people with their own version of the same dream,
modelling ourselves into our dreamed “me”,
appreciating what used to be taken for granted,
and evolving to an unknown version of ourselves.
Until we choose a new destination to emigrate.

Nos sentimos como extraños,
explorando el nuevo mundo como niños pequeños,
conociendo personas con su propia versión del mismo sueño,
modelándonos en nuestro “yo” soñado,
apreciando lo que se solía dar por sentado,
y evolucionando a una versión desconocida de nosotros mismos.
Hasta que elijamos un nuevo destino para emigrar.

Dove noi…
Dove ci sentiamo come estranei,
esplorando il nuovo mondo come bambini,
conoscendo persone con la loro propria versione dello stesso sogno,
modellandoci nel nostro “io” sognato,
apprezzando ciò che davamo per scontato,
ed evolvendo così in una versione sconosciuta di noi stessi.
Fino a quando non sceglieremo una nuova destinazione per emigrare.

Hello Poet House!

I found on youtube this series of videos, and how glad I am to have discovered this content!
Just to give you some context about the poems I am attaching, I am from Colombia, and I’m currently living in Milan Italy.
Thank you for the inspiration. Please keep on creating this kind of material!
Yours truly
-Luis Estrada

Where we…
We address our demons on our bed
When no one’s around .
I watch you
You watch me
Only online.
We will not communicate in an exchange of words
But through air waves
And internet signals
Wireless and free.
You know me.
I know you.
It feels good to be seen.


June at Dusk
Where we caught fireflies in the yard
in pickle jars, gave them names,
watched, enthralled with their fairy blinks.
Lethargic games of tag blurred into hiding,
seeking, chasing, falling. We sometimes told
each other stories under the lilac tree
heavy perfume sweetening our lies.
In our quest to capture bright bits of summer
we learned to adore wandering insects
and start fearing other things.

-Monica Shah

Where we
Where we feel the crabs
burbling beneath the sand
where the sanderlings run up and down the shoreline like some crazed killers
where the gulls indulge in repasts
left long enough to be fair game
where I lose and gain my soul in one
languid spell, an afternoon, summer,
on Jones Beach,
the. air the same as my
body temperature.
Cloaked in the air
I am mist at sea
but having forgotten
I need reminding.
The sea beckons
with its constant thrum
A small riot of whoosh.

-Ellen Pober Rittberg
Thanks Dave
Your workshop gets the creative juices flowing–

Orchard Beach 1952
where we (Higgy, Bart and me)
wade through the polluted waters
of Long Island Sound
looking for scallop shells, discarded condoms
and random ephemera offered up by the incoming tide—
dangling all from stalks of seaweed
as if we were musketeers brandishing promise
along the tips of our rapiers.

-Barry Denny

Where We…
The beers making us foolhardy
we sneak up to the slowly moving train
which blocks us from the park
and reach up, stepping onto the coupling
and carefully, carefully
hop off the other side
we call ourselves hobos
and giggle off into the night.

-Gina Turner

Thank you! This is really fun to do!

Where We
Hold hands with strangers
we’ve known for ten years,
down creaky stairs to church

You hand me instant coffee
in styrofoam and remind me
‘one day at a time’.

—Meara Levezow

Where We
sit alone and together
the A train rumbles past
my memories

—Jill Weinstein

Short Ride
It’s a short ride down
But we make the most of it
Thanks, elevator

Emily Villani

Where We
(after Makesha Evans)

We turn a downed
tree on a lot being
cleared in our newly
emerging neighborhood
into our own version
of a Broadway stage.
We dance and sing
even though we don’t know
all the words. This is
where we practice
pretending the world
is ours.

— Deborah Purdy

Where We
Where we in silence
Of silence inside inner Pie pieces of apartment buildings like Matta
But sealed, in silence and wood, and
Aluminum hurting brightness
A hive of silent movement
city systems invisible
In silence
On tiny red dots.

—Dannielle Tegeder

Where We
Lie to the heavens
and lie on the pews.
Red, yellow, blue, green refracts
And cleanses our souls.
Amen, amen, amen.
Free to sin again


Where We
We squeeze ourselves, sardines
in a packed can bus, we hold on
to whatever we can find and sway
with the motion of the bus as it tries
to miss every pothole. The landscape
is a contrast of automobile junkyards,
suppliers of stone, sand and concrete,
Liberty park and churches. We find
somewhere to live amidst all of it
as we look for a little bit of space,
ringing the bell to pin a location,
to squeeze ourselves back out
and breathe in home
and out a sigh of relief.

—Sherese Francis

Where We
We wear vinyl gloves that are too big
but they’re the only ones we could find
we ask people not to touch our dog
and hope we don’t come off rude
it’s like we’re tiptoeing under these
large clouds low hanging and dense
we’re looking for breath in the open,
blue sky

—Sarah Dohrmann

Where We
Descend into white surfaces unknown
Crystalline always
Tiny pellets sometimes gentle or sharp and staccato
Bumping, gliding, jarring
Down we go or across to pause in the majesty
Of these peaks and dips
We are here together at the grace of this mountain
Passable like this only because of snow
Only because we trust each other
As lovers and friends and fellow mountaineers
Meeting here
Us at our best
Snow furious and us determined
Forward and downward and then again


Where We
played at the beach all summer
the water, the sand
reveling in the sunlight, warmth and excitement
of tsunami like waves
the ocean was my salvation
I enjoyed nothing more
till one cruel day
I almost could not catch my breath under water
I tumbled around gasping for air
only to miraculously
breathe the fine salt air once again

—Sophie Tucker

Where we find the path to the treehouse.
Hopping the fence, between ours
and the neighbor’s yard.
We climb slats up into the hollow house.
Look out at the spaces between fences
property that belongs to no one
stolen in the summer hours
before our parents call from the stoop.

—Mike Cunningham

Where We
We chalk the sidewalk,
build our hopscotch world
right where the gentle hill levels out

Where we own the dusk,
the road devoid of parents
settling in.

Where we are angels in the fading
light, hopping, jumping square
to square, one foot, two

flying if we so feel.
Where we throw the universe back
and forth as if it were a potsie

Where we land just where we
feel like landing.

—Linda Hillman Chayes

Grandma’s Quilt
Grandma’s hand-stitched silk quilt
where we curl up and cuddle
in darkness
in midnight hours
in moments cold as winter’s rain
in moments painful as tragic death of loved one.

Grandma’s hand-stitched silk quilt
where we curl up and cuddle
beneath square patches
of stitched together fabrics
of life
torn apart
snagged, stained, stretched

Grandma’s hand-stitched silk quilt
where we curl up and cuddle
and feel that cozy warmth
peace and love.

—Kiswana Dee

Where We
ride the concrete
corners of the cul-de-sac,

3-speed wheels parting
the air like daggers,

conquer iron pilings
on the bay. We have to

keep moving, lest
darkness catch us clownin, we

peddle past sun,
past lunch, away from dinner

hours, wondering
what dreams will tease us

in the beds we share
with our brothers, muscles

bordering bones,
blankets too short for our feet.


Where We (2020)
We trespass into the woods
Where the sign says we shouldn’t
As we walk we quietly listen
To the birds that nest in the trees
As we hear the steps of the deer
Quietly rustling the leaves
Up ahead we hear a babbling brook
Taking a step along the rocks we take a look

—Eva Weitzel

Where We…
We lay our curious heads,
ceaselessly questioning into the dark.
Childhood homes, weekends at grandma’s house,
father’s prayers, first loves.
Where we recall dreams, and
even, proclaim them.
Where we whisper challenges and make
pleas for pleasure, stealing kisses
in-between. Where we
traverse distance, reconcile

Some days, we rise early,
pull the sheets tight,
arrange pillows. Others,
we stay deep in-
to the afternoon, with books
and coffee and tea.
At some point, abandoning
the messy white pile of fluff,
a soft invitation,
return soon.

—Jasmine Pierik

Where We
We meet the mist
face first, fists full
of food and
outerwear. We treadmill
the earth where we share tales
untold newcomers
tailgating love.

And it’s we
who tight rope the water’s edge
where we see the bridge
and the mist clocks out
for the rain. Where we meet it
gladly under brief shelter where we coat
wet seats with outerwear we no longer desire
where we desire longer
where we linger
where we sit
where we swing.

Where we swing
and the rain meets us…

—David Glover


crossed over into the oasis

manicured lawns, with flower gardens in the front

plots of vegetables in the back in front of

two car garage

passed the civil service exam that gained

access to federal, state and municipal jobs

no longer had to hold rent parties or live in boarding houses

purchased a quarter acre of the forty we were promised


time city services became scarce

green grass turned brown, then only the patches

dry dirt remained

our unemployment rose

drown our sorrow in brown liquor

above the despair on rock cocaine

crashed with needles in our arms and

on our backs

properties became distressed

were abandoned, boarded up

for electric and stripped for pipes

began to leave destitute, broken and defeated

white couples bought our homes for pennies on the dollar

securing loans from the sames neighborhood banks

refused to open checking or savings accounts for us,

to give us mortgages

us to us check cashing services that charged us

more than the local loan shark or bookie

and becky replaced the roof, painted the shutters

the front and back yards and invited their friends

join them as they reclaimed the land

less than a half a century

ran to the suburbs

our collapse and prepared the way

their children to grow up

once we were…

—d. alan ward

Where We
Walk round and round within the bamboo fence outside our kitchen door,

Getting our fill of soft air

When the health ministry says don’t leave your home

(lest you be struck by a crowned virus, that steams your forehead,
chokes off your breath and delivers you post-haste to one of a
thousand zippered isolation tents in surgical green, which resemble

Skirting the exercise bike, the dusty glass-topped table and wire-mesh
chairs, the rack filled with clothing, that may always be almost dry

We tread on wooden boardwalk

And soft synthetic grass

Bordered with natural weeds

The biggest, ugliest and most prickly of which are topped with flowers

Eentsy yellow-petaled circles,

Tiny purple stars

View discarded broken fences

And terraced back porches adorned with the neighbors’ serious attempts
at horticulture

Watch the highest birds, who, according to regulations, fly at a
distance of at least two meters each from each

And on the branch of a tree just beginning to give leaf, site a lone
hook-beaked grey-and-black bird, a touch of turquoise on its wing

My friend wishes she had a yard of her own

—Karen Schochet

Where We
where we smack the little ball
over the concrete slab
where four tables sit
in recessed ground
sometimes we can stop the wind

we own the ping pong table
front left
the glass shards between stones
can’t cut us
we keep our skin

you say we are getting bigger and bigger
we feel the heavy sun
it lifts us up

—Kasumi Parker

Where We
first met in August last year,
Was a place befitting our love for food from the southern part of our land.

Your love for food, you said was hot and cold, of too much and too little,
Your battle with food, was a battle unheard of by me,
To conquer it was your goal.

Tirelessly you have fought since before I have known you,
To reach a place where your love for food won’t be hot and cold.

And I want you to know, a thing which sometimes you forget,
That you have got what it takes to conquer it all.

So when you do, we will once again go to the place where we first met in August last year,
With love for both hot and cold food, and not love which is hot and cold,
To celebrate you, your victory and the food which we both so dearly love.

from India

Where We
After Makesha Evans

We drove through the night—
who needs sleep in their twenties?—
destinations sometimes unknown
and unnecessary: being together
the destination we’d already
arrived at.

—Robert Grant

Where We Once
Where we once owned the sidewalks, cherry blossoms, basketball courts, curbside cafes,
Where we cursed when his briefcase hit our knee, cowered from sirens and truck horns,
Sneakers stuck with gum;
Rushed to work, squeezed spoon-like into subways, wafting of popcorn and urine;
Now we stare, 20, 60, 100 feet down,
Stifled street, gated stores,
No smile under the mask.
Where we once, now we wait.


Where We…
We slipped into the dark
The moon lighting our way
The bicycle wheels turning below us
As cold tears roll down our faces.

Where we can hear each other’s breaths
And the occasional footsteps of last year’s
Reveler shuffling home.

Where we arrive by the desolate beach
And settle onto the sand,
Sipping barley tea while
The sky gradually blinks open.

—Wing Yan Sang

We sneak and go to the beach.
Where we were warned not to visit.
We will get the beating of a lives
How were we caught?
My elder sister will placed
the tip of her tongue on our skin
You are dead meat
Once you have a salty taste.
And the beatings never stopped us from going
Our friend that lives close
Always convinced us to go
Then wash away the salty water in his house.
We will then play in the sand to look dirty.
We were young and reckless
But we had brains.

—Abu Tahiru Sillah

Where We
We hear each other’s voices
close by
in the apartment we share
on the upper west side.
And you tell me
you are going out
to buy groceries.
And I tell you,
I won’t let you go.

—Kori Cooper (@Cooper_Esquire)

Where We
we dance into the night
right through
the speckles of the
morning sunlight
through the trees,
also dancing,
inviting us to
dance to the songs
the birds are singing

—Jade Fassbinder (@jadefassbinder on twitter & instagram)

Where We
used to be comfortable
in our own skin
dressed in
summer, fall, winter, and spring
wrapped in the changing colors
feeling free with our breaths
walking into life-like dreams
not ashamed of our footprints
but emboldened by our way
of chasing the nights
as our light for uncertain times
a torch so high that burned our sights.

—María Paz (@mapachasoy)

Where We
we rode the swing until it was tired
its seat begging for air
that little garden swing
hung from the guava tree
next to the flowers.
the roses and croton tree
must have heard our boisterous screams
as our feet flung through the air
waving at the clouds.
there we waited for the days to come
to fly with the Jamaican wind.

—T. Rolle

Where We
and Away on the Block

girls scrambled knees up

knotty elbows of

mimosa tree

each, a


plant our own


spring to fall

crabapple wars

linked yards

twin houses guarding the trafficky block

where our eyes so often

past Philly’s drab dome

Cali’s sun, an airy fruit we wished to pluck

be a fort that her teen

swore to build beneath the tree

we dragged LittleMark’s wagon

the block

the construction site bragged

of fresh blonde two by fours

wood where our only woods once stood

we used to burrow in a macaroni fort

and wonder

dug and carpeted it

what our mothers would do if they knew

demolition we’d flee

the helmet man peeing out an unglazed window

us scrambling down the block

teetering over wheels

we caught him first

so escaped, tucking ourselves

and away

boasts could pierce the block’s cloud cap

we all fancied

high perch

—Tamra Plotnick

Where We…
We we we all the way
We were not Dick and Jane
Nor Jack and Jill but—
Promise you won’t tell—
Bonnie and Clyde
Holding up the hour
On your side of the bed
Where I go now to shanghai
Your pillow.

—Myra Shapiro

Where We…
Where we tiptoe
through moldering leaves,
lured by the hollow sound
of water drops on stone
we pass the rim,
drawn by the echo of our footfall,
into dankness,
our swallowed voices–
“whoo- whoo’s” thrown back–
on dragon-cold breath.
We dare each other to go deeper, darker into the maw,
holding hands to find
the hole of sun at the other end—
light rushing in
the opening out.

—Kate Cheney Chappell

Long Ago
Where we were immortal
in forever summer,
younger than responsibility,
reckless, oblivious.
We ran past American elms
hid behind forsythia bushes
played baseball and rode our bikes,
never mind bloody knees and
tear streaked cheeks.
We lay on our backs in the grass
and watched the sky.
That was all.
That was enough.

—Jean Lamberty

Where We
to the park
in Brooklyn
with my yellow scooter.
I take a shortcut.
I go down a mountain
very fast,
very super fast, super!
I was brave, I was not scared.
I see police
and I say hello
and I go home to eat.
That’s the end of it.

—Jacqui Andre Fabri-Baksh (age 3.5+)

Where We
For Dave Johnson

Where we lived
A tenement barely less
old than the Civil War.
A railroad flat that
over looked clotheslines,
stretched from windows to
leaning poles, sagging across
backyards and arcing above
sulking dogs and one- eyed cats.

—Gerald Harris

Where We
spy rattlers tucked between
rocks, curdled Pahoehoe lava tubes
everywhere beneath us.
The ranger gifts John a helmet and light
Here is where we separate—
he into profound silence and a consistent
cool. Me, to guard the gear, make blunt sketches
of sagebrush and curved hills, waiting
Waiting-where will he emerge?
Unexpected, a youthful, buoyant
black smudged face erupts long past
the entry-point, telling of close walled
belly shims and ancient sea wall secrets
shared only with those unafraid
of the dark.

—Claudia Hollander-Lucas

Where We…
We meet in the park
with our dogs racing
around and around
here and back.
While they wrestle and gnaw
on each other’s necks,
our lives unfold,
become apparent
through casually disclosed snippets.
The daily chore is woven
into our lives,
becomes our community.


Where We…
We Fox-walk across the spongy musty forest duff
Reach the threshold of earth-walled haven
So windowed that inside is outside
embers erupt in the hearth
We gather round to read short stories aloud, shuffle cards, roll the dice
Stove-top alive with polychromic earthen spices mixed with home-schooled crisp produce
Circling the hand-hewn cherry table we share ideas and happenings
The ominous cloud of world events invisible
From inside my woodland dwelling

—Enzian Family

Where We
We are here
You are there
We cross paths
That don’t go anywhere
Where are you
Let’s find a place to go
A place somewhere only we know


Where We…Want to Go
H—How beautiful
A—Are the beaches
W—With the water and waves
A—All around are happy people
I—Inside and out
I—Islands just so beautiful and peaceful

—Anna Kate

Where We…
Where we play in the salty water
With the whole family
Where we look out as far as the eye can see
While digging holes and making castles
Where we have to wash the sand off our feet
Before going inside
Where the cousins sit and play together
And the best memories are made


Where we lug our lunch is a choice.
I dress in my familiar cabbage patch costume,
drag my sandwich and blanket up into a chimney,
and zip down the chute further into the forest
where we all see the light, mommy and daddy arguing,
me on the ground, far from the kitchen table.

—Kathryn Fazio

Where We…
We are made into dollar signs
easy to count and slice
our bones molded into percentage
and our hopes manipulated
into unbelief; this place
is home, still. Reeking
of death, people rest
alone along hospital corridors
and in rooms where silence comes
because loved ones are never
allowed. These times are new
and somehow have always been the same.

—Flose Boursiquot

Dance Hall
Where we walked into that musty dancehall
heads full of music and love dreams until
the men with Guinness breath danced too close
then it was time for the Ladies’ toilet
where the air reeked of hair spray and
where the mirrors all said, “No.”

—Aine Greaney

Eastside Lounge
Where we discussed your bruises
from restoring the farmhouse furniture you sell
on Facebook to help
pay rent in Las Vegas where you moved
in your car with two hundred thousand
miles, which still wasn’t far enough from
Staten Island where you left
him and your wedding
photos from the Wynn hotel where we
are now, in a lounge whose carpet is too bright
for two in the morning, classic
rock playing on electric violins too loud
for what you were,
we were really,
trying to say.

—Austin S. Lin

Where We
Overcame the whipping wind
Right when
my hair just started to grow out
my fingers started to interlace, again
my feet, arches high, sprung toward your height
my lips and tongue, again, making words
babble and labia smacking love slaps
of sound.
Oh my pelvic floor, my prostrate REJOICES.
Right when
our conversation an orchestra of body parts and breath
wound free of our pedestrian place
and I no longer stuttered the squiggly lines
Right when
I spit blood and fire wrapped
inside vibrations…

—Kurt Brungardt

Where We
Where we could be alone
in my head
Without the rustling of gossip
Attacking the papillon
Trying to croach from its larve.
On the boat on the sea with the wind
Blowing away the swarm of knifes


Where We…
feed the fire with seasoned wood
in a sitting room they once called parlor
instead of renovation
it skipped a generation
or two
the antique spinet kept its tune
needlepoint chairs
resting fathers
mothers hands
elbows frayed
but spirits tended
a house that loved
to serve its children
simple fruit
in crystal bowls

—Heather Newman

Where We
We gathered in the rusty old playground,
all of us thirteen
our bicycles leaning in a line against the chain-link fence,
our voices loud
sometimes in laughter,
sometimes in song.

We knew we needed to gather.
We did not know how fast those days would disappear.

—Maria Brandis

we cross the southern boarder
where we awaken in Oaxaca City
edge down Hildalgo Street
every corner new
every movement of unsureness
melted by the Mexican sun

our shadows follow us
to the zoloco
alive with sounds
Spanish mixed with local dialects
open her seating
welcoming waiters

where we use our words
point and nod
then wait in anticipation
for the meals
we hope we chose

—Margaret Emerson
Martha’s Vineyard, MA

Where We…
We traverse
the annals of history
one story at a time
where the great painters, sculptors and illustrators
bore witness to the joy, treachery, love, despair and bravery of decades of mankind.
You find hope and light in their strokes, composition and design,
I find gratitude in their colors, shades and lines,
Together we relish in their talent and reflections cloistered in the majestic halls of the museum.
Only wishing we could stay longer.

—Ellen Goldstein

Mrs. Epidemiologist
Where we
don’t kiss,
don’t mix spit;
only rarely now in anger
do I hiss
(cat claws, complaints useless):
our little house.
Sun shines outside, bliss.

But outside you persist.
O, stay away from us
little virus.

—Moira Egan


Up and Away on the Block

we girls scrambled knees up

the knotty elbows of

Franny’s mimosa tree

claiming, each, a

wooden crotch

to plant our own

and plan

summers spring to fall

the crabapple wars

among linked yards

our twin houses guarding the trafficky block

from where our eyes so often

climbed past Philly’s drab dome

to Cali’s sun, an airy fruit we wished to pluck

there’d be a fort that her teen

brother swore to build beneath the tree

once we dragged LittleMark’s wagon

up the block

where the construction site bragged

stacks of fresh blonde two by fours

stealable wood where our only woods once stood

where we used to burrow in a macaroni fort

underground and wonder

who dug and carpeted it

and what our mothers would do if they knew

that demolition we’d flee

as the helmet man peeing out an unglazed window

caught us scrambling down the block

wood teetering over wheels

but we caught him first

and so escaped, tucking ourselves

up and away

our boasts could pierce the block’s cloud cap

while we all fancied

Franny’s high perch

Tamra Plotnick