My poem “Terminal Tower” is up at Eunoia Review today. It is part of a series of poems I have been writing about the Great Lakes region.
Five years past, I walked to Cleveland from London,
Ontario. My passport was the memory of monarchs and
I touched water at the Rondeau spit.
A shroud of perch bones settled on the lake’s surface.
It was January, season of thin oil fish.
When Erie thaws, shore dwellers sleep on feathers
not the moon of long-winged ants and day-dead nymphs.
When Erie freezes, snowy owls move down from the pole.
Toddlers cry out to hunters sighting flying dots.
In senseless white I thought crows.
For several miles out was a procession of voles.
In the shallows they sought smelts and minnows,
the lake their field of barley, bluegrass, the English gardens.
Over in a town no one knew,
a candidate calling himself Zyklon B
was elected; his first act named Town Hall
This is for the great Cuyahoga fire, he said.
The snow I met was a cache of ashes.
It fell with vulcanized precision.
-Jeremy Nathan Marks