Arthur, 1992
Ice Fishing on Europa
Junk Drawer
New Year
Not Grace Exactly
Proper Shoes
Scranton
The House Across the Street
The Meetinghouse
The Scrape
The Stirling Stone
There Should Be a God
Watching Citizen Kane in Alaska
What the mind keeps, it keeps
Scranton
Aiden Heung
I couldn’t count how many turns
our car made, but I knew the fog
that kept us from the town — the air
was damp and I smelled oak, or earth,
or something much older.
I was afraid a moose might bust
through these smutted trees.
But you reassured me they were smart
animals. Dusk clothed the sky with grey.
You turned on the radio, Billy Joel,
in his soulful voice, was singing.
Words escaped me but I thought I picked up
a boat, an ocean, and imagined the homeless
returning to waves. We were far
from the sea, only wind carried the salt
like amulets. You sang along,
I couldn’t; I lent you to your song.
There was a stir in the air, like iron
meeting a magnet but I couldn’t fathom
the force. Outside the window, lights linked
like a string of beads rolling northward
into cold.