Isabel Owen

“Good to see you.” the blurring lights

of northern boulevard slinking in sleep

paralysis; the hills the valleys of a fringe

town whispering salt-mined promises

meanwhile: across millennia of trees and

interstate highway, the long island

mansions & green park and clean street fill

me clean empty-full like the nassau county

eyewitness news 7 and the hum of the

long island express-way the backnoise for

ponzi schem-atic villages their vibrating

anxiety and i love them, the way i love

friends who were never friends in a three-

story estate, should-have-gone there-

should-have-tried-harder; please, prove:

that i want the city because my friends say

i want it, “Complacent,” i say about the

upstate campus, sipping overpriced bub-

ble tea, in 48 hours i’ll be in a yellow valley,

still wondering what complacent means—

(wherever i am i always want to go home)