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.