Register Thursday | June 20 | 2019

Hazel Dell

A poem

The streets were lined with dutch-elm disease—
regal trees with weeping branches and neon orange
spray-painted trunks.

The air was perfumed with thistle breath and the Red River.
Crabgrass seeped through chain link; every
driveway was crooked.

She ran over the three year old child with her
wood-paneled minivan; she said it felt just like
a speed bump.

The Red River’s undertow was always present
in every alcove and every makeshift, splintered
playground
pulling.