After Maya Angelou
Light forces its will
over the Carson Range
between my wooden blinds.
Keys on hooks, on a laptop
all nap in anticipation
of fingers, of jingle and tap.
The city stretches itself awake
foothills to mountains.
The Biggest Little City
stirs on stolen land
with gold, and silver,
and Nevada lithium
north of Winnemucca.
It lies on gamble –
dice, slots, open pit
and tailings pond.
From the radio
electric voices read
old news. War. Wildfire.
The price of gas
and eggs. I am an alarm
like any poet, unasked,
unheeded again.
Melanie Perish is a gender-fluid crone whose work has appeared in The Meadow, Rust & Moth, Sequestrum, Bicoastal Review, Sinister Wisdom, and other publications. Passions & Gratitudes (Black Rock Press, 2011,) The Fishing Poems (Meridian Press, 2017,) and Foreign Bodies, Native Tongues (Single Wing Press/Blurb, 2021) are her collections. Melanie believes reading makes you beautiful.
