in terrible cold, the space heater shivering
the teapot chasing its boil,
the street, unfurling through warped glass
in ash, brick, and snow, and the light, elongating
the sky, revealing only cross-hatches of snow-tracks
arriving and departing, squirrels worrying fence tops,
morning spilling its webs and opening—
a newspaper tossed across icy linoleum,
its dumb illumination caught in black
coffee, unwashed spoons, tabled letters.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 1.
John Hyland’s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Western Humanities Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Atlanta Review, and Harvard Review. He teaches at Hotchkiss School.
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