I Moved to Rio Terrace
Megan Paranich
The ice in the window melted itself into teeth,
like a sea monster left their dentures in my kitchen.
I had to stop leaving fat out for the magpies
that live in the old spruce tree, because the coyotes
would hop the fence, which in retrospect
is a poor wall of choice to fortify
my lawn against the landscape.
Water on the shoreline pushes sand into linear castles,
and rippling eddy fingers build mockeries
of the new stadium along the trails.
The water runs faster than you’d think,
and if you’re quiet enough, if the cars all parked
for like a minute, we could hear it laughing,
scratching at the sides of the suburban rash on its shoulders.