Storm DoorCarolyn Guinzio
Open for the cross breeze on merciful days, but locked against the tract-bearers. Wire and grime, the kids have leaned into the screen and torn away its edges. It curls to admit the red and paper wasps, an exoskeletal tap on the stuccoes. Pods and keys root in the open vein of the gutter, but we can breathe the city- layered air and still be a good hook-and-eye away from hell.
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