At the Hand and Pen

The large river the city does not have

but would be stopped by nothing flowed

towards the jail at the edge so everyone could

tell themselves, I went.

How many times had they closed the university,

shut down the lecture series? The horizons

had all been pleated like doubt-peacocks

shooed away. Like Fay,

cut in two by bombs, holding her little girl

low-breaking by the hand, or the ones shot

at crossroads. She sprinkled holy water

where the pavement was uneven.

He took his ballot out of his pocket,

raised it to his forehead, then traced

the sign of the cross with it over his chest

and placed it in the box.