A fence does not run the length of the meadow.
Lank air hangs on the clothesline, translucent billow
of bristled breath against her dispirited bones.
Wind in the firs, and the screen door slapping the frame
in deciduous silence as photographs fade by the curtain,
the empty crib. The rhythmic whisper of her broom
now paused: the mortuary stillness of her hands.
Distance, she sees, is the currency of air, grief
the sleeve of wind pulled inside out. The scar revealed
is a wing. If she takes flight, there is no fence.
A Pushcart nominee and winner of the 2016 Ken Warfel Fellowship, J.I. Kleinberg is co-editor of Noisy Water: Poetry from Whatcom County, Washington (Other Mind Press 2015). Her poetry has appeared recently in One, Diagram, Otoliths, Raven Chronicles, and elsewhere. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, and blogs most days at chocolateisaverb.wordpress.com and thepoetrydepartment.wordpress.com.