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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.

 


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