They Have Named My City a Hundred Times

Once for a woman with golden hair,

and once for the spirit hills rising

to the west. They have called it after

a species of bird that flocked in the

pine-rich woods, but hasn’t been seen

for a lifetime or two. A king named it

for his dog, another for his horse,

a third for a gleaming ship that brought

a Bronze Age army to its shores.

It’s been named for generals and queens,

businessmen with large mustaches,

for castles, cathedrals, and banks.

One time it took its name from some

great, roaring inland sea that turned

to sand thousands of years ago, leaving

fishbone fossils in the sedimentary rock.

Every street has had a hundred names –

Pear Street became Lion Street, and then

Flood Way, or Disaster Boulevard, and when

the smoke cleared, The Avenue of Curses and Remorse.

Quiet Town

In a town so quiet it might have been

filled with nothing but the hungry

dead, three yellow birds hunted worms

on a front lawn –

three lithe lemons, or three candy

sticks, moist from the licking

of tongues.

When the sky opened, mourning doves

fluttered toward the trees, eyes flaming,

wings obscured by smoke.

Before they could spring back into air

two small girls gathered

them in baskets woven of weed

and straw and the long, sticky sinews of frogs.

About the Author:

Steve Klepetar lives in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. His work has appeared widely in the U.S. and abroad, and has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize, including four in 2016.Books by the Author Recent collections include: “A Landscape in Hell;” “Family Reunion;” and “How Fascism Comes to America.”