THE TOPOGRAPHY OF A TOWN WITHIN A SNOW GLOBE ON THE MANTELSHELF
These lamp-lit streets are gently knocking: there is nothing
here, nothing between us,
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
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
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
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.