Locals by Jenn Blair
Early evening again, daylilies in burlap sacks,
birds of blue glass askance on window sills,
dropped shells ground down in the garden.
And what shall ye say my people who grow
old and die unthinking, your loves and hates
gathered up now as naught in your spindle arms
while visible motes of gnat float over the river?
Oh! We often weary in twilight and forget to look
behind us, miss the gate and crush the fern’s heel
then go back to our rooms and stare in mirrors,
angling our heads just so—quickly locating our
best features one last time before laying down
in fresh varnished coffins lovingly carved with
spite and knife and bone.
Jenn Blair is from Yakima, WA. She has published work in Rattle, Berkley Poetry Review, Copper Nickel, The Tusculum Review, Tulane Review, Cold Mountain Review, and Superstition Review, among others. Her chapbook The Sheep Stealer is forthcoming from Hyacinth Girl Press.
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