On the bus to work, craning my neck into shaky gaps
between swaying professionals, I catch hungry glimpses
of the unfinished horizon, throw wide the net of my sight
beyond the middle distance.
Sheet metal’s glint off downtown’s crane-brushed canopy,
birds periodically smashed into glass,
that mauled vulture I saw beside my Amtrak to Portland, or
whatever remains of the grotesque once swallowed by the ordinary.
All afternoon laundered suits swish in & out of
meeting rooms, & crooning of profit and loss
drown the noises rising from the street outside.
What hangs in the balance?
Even on the sunny days, I can never see
what lies on the other side of the ridged treeline.
Nanya Jhingran is a poet, scholar and teacher from Lucknow, India currently living by the coastal margin of the Salish Sea, on the unceded lands of the Coast Salish People (upon which the city of Seattle was built). She is an Associate Editor at Poetry Northwest, where she edits the book reviews section. Her recent work can be found or is forthcoming in Seventh Wave, Poetry Northwest, and Honey Literary, among others.
Originally published in Moss: Volume Seven.