Reputation for decay, for violence
where billie used to sing. The rows in a tableau, the decades of eviction
and their fruits. Strange
the murals brightly painted, icons I’ve not heard of.
Conflicted histories in the list
for English B: Wilkerson and Hooks, Staples, Ta-Nehisi.
How to know what’s implicit? Black
communities fanning out like wings. Black
on the map the outline of an etherized
insect: what you see when you pin the red
line of a city slinging plaques
for people you’ve not thought of.
Around the picturesque, the lakes and parks
“You see a spot on a window, and sometimes you don’t see
past that spot,” the heritage director says,
though tourist maps will scrub the areas in gray. Invisible?
No gift shops where the cops go rogue in episodes of Homicide.
No iridescence.
crawling toward mirage
EL PASO—If only you can get there—from desiccated beds along
forests of saguaro, in fiendish shade of canyons … to walk out in the open
Some argue
the narrative becomes too difficult to understand
if you give away
the ending first, cut
from the bottom
who? for instance, the bones under the bones exposed,
scattered by the coral snakes and rattlers
for instance, what? the tatty blankets hanging on barbed wire
somewhere near black mountains, where?
flayed in dehydrations, when?
why and why?
Notes, below the fold: Anything you want
Shrewd coyotes making the arrangements
cities at dusk, winter light
“As long as I kept walking I didn’t hear [the cries] ….” — Beckett
Water sounds like wind, wind like water over riprap, over
fallen masts that straddle the embankment. Black
rocks form entanglements. Black
ballast for the ship of night the wind is navigating.
Fog settles in the darkening. Along the falls, a figure with a dog.
A figure backing books, looks to where a deer is bounding
toward the bus. Near miss
where children in my thinking
wait with flashlights for their mothers’
gas-lit stoves. Light from cell phones.
Flash of the explosion. They cover themselves with cardboard.
They fall with their mouths open.

Kathleen Hellen is an award-winning poet whose latest collection Meet Me at the Bottom was released in Fall 2022. Her credits include The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Umberto’s Night, which won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House, and two chapbooks, The Girl Who Loved Mothra and Pentimento. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, Hellen’s poems have won the Thomas Merton prize for Poetry of the Sacred and prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review, as well as from the Maryland State Arts Council and Baltimore Office of Promotion & the Arts. She can be found at KathleenHellen.com and on Facebook.
Thank you! Kathleen
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