Small Town : For Baltimore

by Jalynn Harris

 Windows blown out by music. The red 

car parked as ash on a coffee table. 

The woman exhales. Smoke rises—

A flag sighs in twisted wrought iron shapes,

cursive Qs, cascading pothos. Then nothing.

Everywhere the villagers’ hearts haggle. 

Thump. Thump.

All this before she does what she came here for.

Blue crabs, her mother instructed. 

It’s Sunday. The week’s ending and beginning. 

A half dozen legs stumble over themselves 

not ready for her to pull them apart.