It’s not the first cool day of autumn,
but it’s the first that won’t end
until April, if ever. The hail covers every crack
in the sidewalk. I skate across it, turn into rain.
Later I’m standing in the mud, counting.
Julie calls to say the surgery didn’t work,
third one this year. Doctor referred her to some
research hospital in Ypsilanti, but she won’t
be studied. She’s on a new diet instead,
only avocados and citrus. She says,
*That’s why Sudan has the lowest cancer rates
and there’s still lots of time but please come see me this weekend.*
I take off my shoes and look for a place
shaped like my feet. I tell her I’ll build us
a sweat lodge on the Auglaize, I could learn how,
I’ve seen it done. We’ll sing Kirtan
to Hanuman and sage the hell out
of you, that’ll do it. I’m sure.
No she says *build me a school
for the things beneath the things, inside, around,
the scaffolding.* There are walls
inside these walls. Enough space for all of us to pray
for certainty the way it prays for us. *Fear
is the cheapest room in the house. I would like
to see you living in better conditions.*