Fallout (Crank 3)

Lifts her hand

with uncommon grace.

She could pass for

the sophisticate

I’m too clumsy to be.

Touches cheeks

blushed berry in

steep hollows.

I wish I knew who

sculpted her face.

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I don’t know

that girl. The only

thing familiar about

her is how she wears

fear in her eyes.

IT IS THAT GIRL

Who gets in the car with

Grandfather. That girl who

rides, silent as a ghost, for

ninety-three minutes, barely

even acknowledging her

grandfather’s faltering small talk.

That girl who stares out

the window, counting water

tanks and watching big and

bigger American flags flap

in the wind. That girl who

quick-freezes after arrival.

Coming? asks Grandfather,