Nancy White
I raised my arm at the border
said I’d never be back.
The window the floor
have a heat of their own
which I learned by leaving.
Does the day
still lean long into the grass?
Does the grass smell of honey?
Were we imaginary or
chemical? O pirate
in the end so little
is ours:
a bench the dock a corral.
If I had not looked back
over my shoulder
would we be better off?
The story still
have taken its bite?
How did you survive
that killer place?
Nancy White is the author of three poetry collections: Sun, Moon, Salt (winner of the Washington Prize), Detour, and Ask Again Later. Her poems have appeared in Beloit Poetry Review, FIELD, New England Review, Ploughshares, Rhino, and many others. She serves as editor-in-chief at The Word Works in Washington, D. C. and teaches at SUNY Adirondack in upstate NY.