ON THE BARRICADES, THE MOURNING, THE POST-ELECTION DAYLONG
in my car with the shaky wheel, out
of the city, its discomforting ways,
all the wrists, bent to god,
as if to say, there is nothing here
beyond what you see; well, beyond
that kindness is a rushing body of water—
never even thinks to beg the trout
to slide in by the thousands, no
stocked river, glass ceiling, cornered
bass. In the world I return to, nobody
gets the stick. Nobody gets the small
bone. I can break Market Street, JFK,
the world of banks, with flat palms. Pour milk
onto the train platform.
I can piss on your shoes.
But I have this feeling. I
will never see the Mississippi.
Laura Miller (she/her) is an undergraduate studying poetry at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, PA. She hopes her art can in some tiny way contribute to the eventual demise of capitalism. Her favorite role in the service industry was bartending at a recently-closed dive where she met some of her greatest friends and worst enemies.