Where Matter Adjoins

by Lori Kean

It's rush hour, and I'm not driving, exactly- more like working the clutch through drifts of winter traffic. I don't mind the delay except maybe the fish are getting cold in their plastic bag world beside me. The clerk at the pet shop, silver stud through lower lip,   and bobby pin holding back bangs was kind enough to oxygenate their water, then dropped in a tablet of something "to alleviate their stress," she said. My creeping headlights throw light where snow was tossed and butts up now like violent mountains against the quiet planes of drifted lawns. I love the point where geographies meet, The locus where matter adjoins- The clerk, the fish, snow, me, the plow, traffic, oxygen, etc.