I’D LIKE TO STEP OUTSIDE OF MYSELF,
patrol outlying needled-forests, bring the darkest
of bruises to light. Somewhere in the next
town over men are dragging shadows
deep as rotting stew. I know this by day and
by night from cheap candle glow.
This town or that town—
hide-away boat launches, cedar lodges. Lakes
with removable fold-up docks and snow-
mobile graveyards on the east side.
Water levels like religion and longer
shadows to the north—
ALLISON LEE has been a meeting planner, copy editor, greenhouse worker, teacher, and New York City dog walker. Her work has appeared in Fiction Southeast, The Madison Review, The Columbia Review, Cheap Pop, The Texas Review, Blue Earth Review, and others. She lives in a tiny apartment in Kalamazoo, Michigan with her cat, Nevermore.