Detroit branch-sifted light
 
spreads on tufts of herbaceous
 
tousled lawn. Pink hydrangeas
 
nod; their blowzy blossoms thrust
 
through soot-blackened window frames.
 
 
A poplar fountains through the parlor
 
pierces the rotted roof beams and
 
arches its branches blue.
 
 
A man with grey felty dreadlocks
 
walks his kindergartner in the middle of the quiet street
 
“Howya doin’ baby girl?”
 
 
A pheasant strides
 
across the cracked, chicory fringed boulevard.
 
 
———-
Joan Robinson is a recent graduate from University of Nevada, Las Vegas with a MFA in creative writing. Her work has appeared in 300 Days of Sun, Interim, (r)evlove, The One Three Eight and Chance. She enjoys exploring ghost towns with her husband and wandering the Mojave’s vast spaces.