by Deborah Hauser
Mist shrouds the city.
Clouds hang low, still sulking.
Thunder rattles concrete bones.
Sirens announce some new injury.
I sip a cold, weak cup of tea.
I’ve lost track of time,
has it been three weeks?
Stepping through the window
onto the fire escape, I steel myself
for the November moon waxing
over tower ruins.
I keep watch for you, sailor.
This wilderness, the new frontier.
Cosmopolitan beauty rises from the ashes.
Deborah Hauser lives on Long Island. She is the author of Ennui: From the Diagnostic and Statistical Field Guide of Feminine Disorders (Finishing Line Press, 2011). She received an MA in English Literature from Stony Brook University. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in dogwood, DASH, The Wallace Stevens Journal, The Pedestal Magazine, and -gape-seed- (Uphook Press). deborahhauser.com