BY MICHELLE TURNER
flat sky reflects a frozen marsh
when I could not find, could not feel
the hunger as I thought I should
and look at the arrangements they make across
the earth—leaves tougher and wiser,
eight weeks of winter in the veins.
When the answers go, where the answers go,
I cannot up and follow.
Questions left like shoes beside the door,
wet socks stuffed inside them.
What I would not suffer, will not suffer.
It is entirely your fault you are alone.
What I want is to chronicle change.
What you wanted, want, will want—
Just look at the leaves.
Look at them now, and now, and now.
Mornings cupped like someone else’s hands.
Michelle Turner holds degrees from the University of Virginia and the University of Michigan. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Southern Humanities Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in Fort Collins, Colorado. Find her online at www.lattice-work.com.