imagine
trees not merely melting, dropping their seasonal
froth but getting shorter softer till in the morning one day
you look out of a now much lower misshapen window
and they’re nothing but toadstools
edges of lawn now run greenly down sidewalk and street
street flows inexorably into the sewers
freeways clog under the advance of the slopes now seeking
their level like water
each day each step takes you longer in this plasticine
world left out through carelessness in noonday heat
and wherever you place your foot you are not certain
of firmness
soon you will have to adapt to all fours
then
as your hands too sink no matter how much you struggle
how little you move
you will know the calm panic unblinking stare
of giants no less than small rodents amphibians birds
ever so slowly swallowed
toward a crude digestion a dark refined return
About the AuthorColumbia University Press published Anca Vlasopolos's memoir No Return Address in October 2000. She has published poems most recently in Poetry International, Natural Bridge, The Larcom Review, The Madison Review, and Barrow Street.
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