The weather turned bad and I got happy.
That’s wrong—I mean the morning sky
was ash blue, birds on the ground. I mean
not happy but good, not good
but fastened, steady, like every train in the city
was running late, but no one minded.
On 12th Street, tarpaulin swelled
and bowed in wind. Rain drove straight
through a woman’s dress. And again
on Hollis, that slowness: damp black
trees, the line of streetlights
paced like breath. I pulled over. Leaves
dripped like rinsed hands.
A girl held her mother
by the shoulders on a porch.
From North American Stadiums by Grady Chambers. Copyright © 2018 by Grady Chambers. Used with the permission of Milkweed Editions.