Because there are too many pages in novels we use books to hold open our apartment window, balance the leg of a wobbly couch. Because squirrels in city parks become so attached to humans, they disregard personal space, climb my leg to reach the stale pita bread I hold at my side. Because we never walk the long way and always try to find shortcuts, we miss out on seeing the old cork tree in the middle of Seattle, the one you pass after leaving the art museum, three blocks before The Lusty Lady. Because we look away from the man in the street who needs our help, we will carry his face on the back of our eyelids, the heavy thud when he fell against cement, the sound of our footsteps obscured by sirens.© Kelli Russell Agodon
To be published in Red, White, & Blues: Poetic Vistas on the Promise of America Anthology edited by Ryan Van Cleave and Virgil Suarez (University of Iowa Press, 2004)