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a poem by Howie Good

Where I'm From

I came straight from work
to meet them on the corner,

but, of course,
they had already become

fine particles of smoke.
While I waited, I listened to music

for barbed wire and accordion.
The short days of winter

had sneaked up on us,
the sky like a fogged mirror,

the frozen puddles like pale bruises.
I stood there for what

seemed a lifetime,
naked by then and shivering

and with my hands raised
in the air, an unqualified witness

to an unspecified event.


Return to Issue 34