Each day will be the soft
susurrations of silk
against a window ledge.
All your cakes will rise bloom-like
over their cake pans and you’ll own
all the proper lawn care products. But
one day traveling through the landscape
of your birth, you’ll cup air
in your palm out the car window,
waving to where you left your childhood,
and under the colored glass
that has become your life, you’ll feel
from an unseen cigar. But that’s
all. You’ll keep driving. The days
will swallow you, and the many days
afterwards, like coins dropped
into a fountain, with the ease of wishing.
Jen Town’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Mid-American Review, Cimarron Review, Epoch, Third Coast, Lake Effect, Crab Orchard Review, Waccamaw Journal, Unsplendid, and others. She earned her MFA in Poetry from The Ohio State University in 2008. Her manuscript, The Light of What Comes After, was a finalist for both the Moon City Poetry Award and the Cider Press Review Book Award in 2014.