Among the killings. Among the tickets. Among the dull transparency. Among the hunger. Among the family beyond our reach. Among the labour pool. Among that type of bread. Among the registered voters. Among the paperless statements. Among the eye of the beholder. I’m lost among your ethics. Among New World dictionaries. Among the pages of windows. I’m lost inside your mesosphere of what’s toxic and what’s not—in America. I am certainly lost at your political march. Among the recurring war no one dares to conjure on the ride home. Among the ink tracking, MY GOD, full moods resurfacing of worlds just beyond the sunrise. Among the maps they used to leave in our hair. “Celia got away, bad hip and all.” Among electronic billboards armed with the black faces of runaways, don’t call this toll-free number if you see her armed and dangerous, healing from the law. Among marijuana fields owned by the same old same old. Against the umbrage of time.
Nikki Wallschlaeger’s work has been featured in the Nation, Georgia Review, Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, Witness, the PoetryNow podcast through the Poetry Foundation, and others. She is the author of the full-length collections Houses and Crawlspace, as well as the graphic chapbook I Hate Telling You How I Really Feel from Bloof Books. She lives in Wisconsin.