A Letter From Vermont
Outside my window,
the trees stand like beggars,
their hands open and sore with color.
A steeple has turned itself into
a spool whose orange threads
have unwound and floated
over the chilled shoulders of the town.
The innkeeper brought tea, apologized
for the lack of heat, and I offered
the half-smile of a woman
who wants to feel more than she does.
There is nothing to hear now, nothing
to wait for but the lit lamps
of the maples to turn out, one by one.
Tomorrow I’ll return home
and we’ll live out our lives
with upturned faces,
seeking the perfect blue
that will leave us fixed, amazed,
looking higher and higher,
until our necks snap.
Kim Lozano is on the board of directors of the St. Louis Poetry Center and River Styx, where she serves as a contributing editor. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Iowa Review, Poetry Daily, The Journal, CUTTHROAT, Natural Bridge, and a reader for high school students scheduled to be published by The Iowa Review.
