She walks with an accent favoring her right side
but not enough to grieve equilibrium. Not enough
to complain at work where she lines the books with clues
to the culprit. On Wednesday the color escapes her face
as the books on 17A are boxed and burned.
It doesn’t prevent her from color-coding future clues.
Once the code is broken she will need a new gait, another lift,
so to speak, before moving down to the river and abruptly
skipping stones. Water ought never be interpreted as glass.
teaches writing at Metro State University in Minnesota's twin cities.