My Day

So many hours of sunlight, sky flooded with pink, black flashes

of swallows, white-out storm of blossom—back and forth on Main

all day a man holding two bags by the necks like long-necked geese;

placing them down, precisely, rocking, starting again. Northward

six steeples of empty locked churches; on the face

of Rattlesnake Hill, the scar from the shut-down quarry;

flags streaming southward, evidence the wind’s from the north,

invisible wind, time to write to a friend I miss terribly—video

on my screen: six ICE agents we pay for; one nameless young

woman; they crowd her; she screams, What is this? One tells

her, traps her hands. Her voice is soft now.

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The John and Mim Poems is a portrait of a marriage and Miriam Levine’s gift to you.