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Here is an icehouse that no longer houses ice.

Here is an alfalfa meadow in need of mowing.

Here is the barn where a sauced and saucy welder

has left behind his anvil. It was never his barn.

Here is a clearing in the woods that didn’t exist

until December’s ice storm. It was once a grove

of maiden ferns and hardwood trees. A kind man

cleared the roots and trunks, then kindly retreated.

I have stood in this clearing and cannot decide

if I miss the trees or if I love newborn clarity.

How can I love a damaged place? But I love

rooms and cities I’ll never return to, and once

I loved a man for how he damaged me. Here

is the footbridge unbridged by that storm. Here

is the fire pond the walker could not find: he did not

know my route. Here is the water. Where is the fire?

from Some Say the LarkFind more by Jennifer Chang at the library

Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Chang
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Jennifer Chang Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.