she was the first
to give you alchemy
to give you steam
to be indifferent enough
to consequence
to hide with you
in a downstairs room
turn out the light
and kiss
you on the mouth
when her sister told
as sisters do
her mother
lost her mind
the kind of trouble good catholic girls get
apart all day the rest of your stay
you filled your time
in their big backyard
lingering
by the twisted vine
thick and heavy with dark sweet fruit
fed yourself until you were sick
until face and fingers and shirt
were stained wine red
beyond the fence
the interstate
you couldn’t fathom this savage road
coming so close to people’s homes—
such traffic
such noise
such pending
danger
Michael Albright has published poems in various journals, including Stirring, Rust + Moth, Tar River Poetry, Pembroke Magazine, and Cider Press Review, and the chapbook In the Hall of Dead Birds and Viking Tools (Finishing Line, 2015). He also curates the “Under the Sign of the Bear Reading Series” in Pittsburgh and is the managing editor of the Pittsburgh Poetry Review. He lives on a windy hilltop near Greensburg, PA, with his wife Lori and an ever-changing array of children and other animals.