the clouds today resemble
frozen whitecaps
enid's playing trumpet again
in the room next door
she can’t stop, the brass so reassuring -
the keeper of the shelter, not the cage
her teeth and tongue
press gently against the instrument's opening
configuring vibrations that
roil and froth
past the cat in the doorway,
the boy just out of frame
looking up
tossing his softball from left to right
sand and seawater collect themselves
in murky puddles around enid's feet
inside the periscoped ears of the boy
the cat
and the shapes inside: a music stand, an asymmetrical longing
a whitecap
Author Bio:
Hannah Coakley is urban theorist and nutritionist by trade. She spends her days deep in the labyrinth of the American food system, trying to understand how the complex tangle of food, politics, and community is best unwound. She loved writing from an early age and, after a long hiatus, rediscovered poetry as her pastime, her passion, and her most intimate relationship. She has been greatly influenced by the works of Elizabeth Bishop, Gertrude Stein, and Adrienne Rich. Some of Hannah's essays and poems can be found online at Rebelle Society. She holds a BA in Urban Studies from New York University and an MS in Public Health and Human Nutrition from Johns Hopkins University, but she is most proud of her ability to create and maintain nourishing, lifelong friendships.