The Houses of Frankfurt
A stranger walks his dog toward the university.
It used to be a chemical plant.
There is a break in the plaza where students lie in the sun.
There is a tree taller than the buildings with a wide base.
The bark is black and the leaves are black as though it were a painting.
The shade is barely discernible.
The shade is barely discernible from the subject until I step into it.
It knows too much, the brightness.
Not every animal can survive it.
When I think of that city, first the tree.
Still abandoned houses.
Then the houses.
Too quiet for children. For dogs.
I look like no one in this city.
It used to be a chemical plant.
There is a break in the plaza where students lie in the sun.
There is a tree taller than the buildings with a wide base.
The bark is black and the leaves are black as though it were a painting.
The shade is barely discernible.
The shade is barely discernible from the subject until I step into it.
It knows too much, the brightness.
Not every animal can survive it.
When I think of that city, first the tree.
Still abandoned houses.
Then the houses.
Too quiet for children. For dogs.
I look like no one in this city.
Unknown maker, German. [Unidentified city, possibly German], about 1870. Albumen silver print. The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.
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Lisa Hiton holds an MFA in poetry from Boston University and an M.Ed. in Arts in Education from Harvard University. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Linebreak, The Paris-American, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and LAMBDA Literary, among others. She has received the AWP WC&C Scholarship, the Esther B Kahn Scholarship from 24Pearl Street at the Fine Arts Work Center, and two nominations for the Pushcart Prize. Her chapbook, Variation on Testimony, is forthcoming from CutBank. She is the interviews editor of Cosmonauts Avenue and the poetry editor of The Adroit Journal.