
SEATTLE BY NAILAH MATHEWS
an open street
not empty but open
crowd bending curbing unwatched
unstalked,
too fluid
the pavement scorched with art; the names of the dead in
exquisite paint
roses tulips marigolds weeds
tucked
between chair links on
newly raised
fences
six blocks of barricades,
birds, a city becoming a breathing body
and heaving that
first great breath after
a knee
has been forced
off a tender bone in the throat.