imitations
after David Berman
cellophane, crackers, chartreuse
in the garage streams of multicolored christmas lights hang from rafters
the golden retriever whines until we pause dinner to go back inside
the mailboxes have keys hanging from them and so on
because no one stayed to wait for the all-clear, they just left,
their cars peeled off the shoulder like masking tape ripped from cardboard
adhesive tearing to carpet where fibers collect clusters of filth
waiting to be licked
lou reed’s walk on the wild side;
we come together on the sofa to exchange, you say yours is not a sad story
it’s just a story that’s sad
emergency-service alarms roll throughout the neighborhood,
an apoplectic crow survives the near-miss with an ambulance
inside the kitchen utensils furnish the countertop waiting to be touched,
to stir and dip into the thick of mennonite soup
Cymelle Leah Edwards (she/her) is an MFA Creative Writing candidate at Northern Arizona University. She is the poetry editor for Thin Air Magazine. Her work has been published in Essay Daily, Brittle Paper, Contra Viento, Elm Leaves Journal, and elsewhere.