Page 30 - Vol. VI #1

Elenbogen (continued from preceding page)
21
Golden Rod Again
Not the dog shit
someone left in our Azalea bush
or the shards of glass in the aftermath
of a distant bombing
Not the cracking sound
in my daughter’s ankle as she runs
in a pack along the canal
Not the smell of dirty water rising from the river my father spent his life keeping clean
Not the scars on my arms
or the bruise on my left thigh
Only a plant grasping
the cruel beauty of September
For once I remember its name