Journey Toward Atlantis
Fear and hope enter the city during
early morning and late afternoon
like a tidal event. Rural people.
They fin over rain-slick macadam,
past the suburbs, into the heart of the place,
borne on waves of weird bones and
Baltimore is where all good doctors exist,
wise as the oyster and patient as cuttle.
It is where children are taken first
and adults are sent last.
Every small town knows
its island of health shrunk in a periscope.
To such a place there are no noisy,
joyful journeys, no flashy shore breaks.
No wave is anxious to arrive.
Ahead, only long waits and disappointment.
Disappointment is the third tide.
An hour after offices close, lost cars
are seen wandering back streets and off-roads.
They weave in and out of abandoned
neighborhoods like bright fish.
They keep circling for days,
searching for something lost,
maybe a city.
Ashley Hutson‘s work has appeared or is forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, TheEEEL, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Calliope, DOGZPLOT, The Lascaux Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Sharpsburg, MD, and can be found on the web at http://www.aahutson.com.
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