Melissa Cannon

Eviction Street

 

Springs, strings, sleeves, sheets, shades in one tumbled skein;
half-fastened frames, crushed cartons, sodden sacks;
a doll's eye, glistening through rills of rain:

tilted impromptu sculptures, shifting, strain
against the fitful wind as it unpacks
springs, strings, sleeves, sheets, shades, in one tumble skein,

pressed-plastic pendants, scarf-swirled cellophane,
strewn clothes for limitless consignment racks,
a doll's eye. Glistening through rills of rain,

tin lids, brass buckles, loops from a rusty chain,
glass images defined by scars and cracks,
springs, strings, sleeves, sheets, shades, in one tumbled skein.

Detritus spilled across chipped porcelain,
stained mattresses bent low on broken backs,
a doll's eye, glistening—through rills of rain

these castoffs from abandoned lives remain.
Then the sky's tears harden, turn to ice that flocks
springs, strings, sleeves, sheets, shades in their tumbled skein,
a doll's eye, filming over, glazed with rain.