THE TOPOGRAPHY OF A TOWN WITHIN A SNOW GLOBE ON THE MANTELSHELF

Mackenzie Schubert

 

      i.

These lamp-lit streets are gently knocking: there is nothing 

here, nothing between us, 

            nothing.

                           What bituminous knuckle of evening 

truth–buried like a body

                                            beneath this thick snowfall.

And for mail in the afternoon 

                             [of our lonely little dome], 

what stroll of ache–regardless of star

jasmine and hyacinth bean 

poking through neighboring fences 

                                             and gates.

 

     ii. 

 

Our houses are so near to one another yet 

we live inaudibly                     on our opposite sides,

             both categorically alone. 

And despite any hopeful appearances, 

there can be no resuscitating 

            what is gone. 

 

[A holy hand turns us 

over and upright again.

                        The landscape glitters, and I 

am granule-small.]

 

     iii. 

 

No, I am not simply stranded 

on this metaphorical moor, 

                                            I am also the moor or 

I carry it always with me.

The windburn is tedious,

               and the emptiness? By your terrible design. 

Have you seen solitary 

                                                         windmills? 

Lighthouses on 

                                          tiny 

                                                          isles? 

Mackenzie Schubert is a recent graduate of the William Paterson University of New Jersey, where she was an honor student of writing, psychology, and foreign language. Presently, she is job hunting, applying to graduate programs, and trying to find her way home.