[audio:https://newfound.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/itinerant.mp3|titles=”Itinerant” at Newfound |artists=Rachel Moritz]
Whatever alibi the fountain kept,
we won’t discover.
City streets grayed over
like an advent calendar you didn’t want
where each speck walked across—
The temple dome and its lucent hello;
Christian Science sequencing water
threw his light, his pool
for tossing pennies; he’d become
the tourist more now
A cockroach flew home with us,
abiding in a moving box
by the cobra smoked
and proving whatever we knew
as the past was haunted
how distance withers.
That same glass globe we traveled
in the hushed room,
each ignescent country:
its name, weightless,
its blue borders.
What was familiar.
What sidewalks grafted from Reaganite snow.
Hands bared the breath through thin walls, row house
windows bricked up like strays.
Did you come from the hills
I swallowed a scrap paper written down with relative
What boat keeled with bodies
where ‘there’ remained
—the people without
Aquino on his airplane tarmac.
How someone was always male
when he died; someone decanting event
where time went.
Rachel Moritz is the author of two chapbooks, “Night-Sea” (2008) and “The Winchester Monologues” (2005), both from New Michigan Press. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Aufgabe, Cannibal, Colorado Review, and other journals. She lives in Minneapolis, where she publishes a chaplet series from WinteRed Press and edits poetry for Konundrum Engine Literary Review.