Under the Fog
Under the fog
almost everything has disappeared
except our skins
The temporary shelters
break down into mulch
and no one has any cigarettes left
The water is much too clear
and all the birds have flown off
so as not to see their reflections flowing away
Those of us taking shelter
under the arms of the graying spruce
search each new face for something familiar
Optimists go to bed disappointed, I’ve heard
and will die that way as well
The old nurse catches me looking at her
and smiles
–Do you want to hold the baby?
No thank you, I say.
Patricia Russo’s work has appeared in One Art, Acropolis Journal, The Twin Bird Review, and Metachrosis.