Find it here!
In D.C., I pocket my husband
alongside my pictures,
open-mouthed and filled with teeth.
He says he doesn’t remember
the city in the same way I do.
I’ve noticed there’s more water
in Kansas than D.C. It seems
like a lot of things
should be fountains here,
but they aren’t.
Someone told me those words
would look nice in a poem. I agreed,
took a note. But I wasn’t lying—
all the fountains are puddles at most,
their speckled granite or blue linings
dry and solemn as
the extra chain-link fence
that surrounded the White House
a short, empty time ago.