Here, every season is too much of itself.
The winter comes through the break
in the windowpane and grows colder.
The snow bears on the dogwood branches
until they clatter to the ground
like felled bodies.
The summer is all sweat
and evening thunderstorms
that bring no water.
The heat warps everything wooden:
makes small mountains in the floorboards,
keeps the drawers from closing.
The doors are locked.
This is where the longest hours pass,
all these rows of narrow bunks, low lights.
One girl after another laughs,
lifts her hair from her neck,
moans in her sleep,
reaches out and brushes
someone else’s shoulder.
Copyright © Persea Books 2017
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on behalf of Persea Books.