qarrtsiluni

the razed area is a lengthy walk
from the short line, stretching from

saint charles place to the pennsy station.
we can journey there if you’d like,

tread the circles i have made, rummage
through the piles of scrap. i would caution

you, however, to restrain your hopes: we
will not uncover trinkets of value, or discover

objects my family abandoned. i assure you, i have
searched. a thimble, clothes iron, rumpled boot: such

trivial fragments are all that remain where a row of
slumping houses once leaned upon each other.

every hour the dark trains had grumbled past the
tarnished windows and stoops, gravid with

passengers in top hats: men of fortune, who, although
aware of the imminent approach of the endmost depot,

continued to birth plans for attractive views, sturdy
erections with high returns: the demolition of jagged houses.

by Heather Dearmon