Compass Holding East: Haiku for Locational Love

A series written for Poetry 355, Fall of 2010.


one: bay harbor.

Wake up to salt air:
you know not of the ocean,
but only of the lake.

two: w. elizabeth, detroit.
Blonde mohawk, low smile,
the rockstar inhales Detroit
while a crowd looks on.

three: ypsilanti.
Where Prospect meets Cross,
I touch ground and hold, dirt-filled,
the love of sisters.

four: the diag, ann arbor.
Aaron’s on the grass,
his smoke touching the sky,
ash burning the night.

five: massacre site, boston.
The star in the brick,
layed between the traffic lines,
is holding its breath.

six: skyline, detroit.
Reach your hands out far:
everything glows here at night,
and the world doesn’t see.

seven: nickels, ann arbor.
Voices echo-bounce
off the wide-windowed Arcade,
fading while we walk.

eight: detroit.
Who am I at all
if not shaped by this city
of steel-colored love?