I Don’t Know How It Started but I Know How It Ends

Kristen Hanlon

With yellowing newspapers on the porch.
A mailbox, overflowing.
Weeds in the yard waist-high. 
The gas bill past-past-past due.
With crumbling mortar and a loose brick.
After the water has been shut off.
With a broken latch, a screen door out of true.
After a visit from animal control.
With a few dead crows.
With a mosquito bite.
After a minister arrives to silence instead of dismissal.
When an odd smell disturbs a passerby.

Genre: 
Author Bio: 

Kristen Hanlon is the author of Proximity Talks (Noemi Press). Her poems have appeared in Colorado Review, Volt, New Orleans Review, Interim, Aspasiology, Posit, and elsewhere. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Issue: 
62