Whatever an infinitesimal dog tells you about memory
begins with couture.

Never to be taken lightly are the evening gown,
silk purse and pashmina shawl.

I grew up in the city
if it wasn’t clear.

My head was in the middle
of something.

I hope you can see that,

a candle in the ribcage of the coyote
living in the graveyard.

A surprise, this new trouble with distance.

Suddenly the neighborhood cats
are vanishing,

the tuba solo concluding
and sadly you concluding
it wasn’t a tuba.

—

Dan Kaplan’s second book, Instant Killer Wig, was published by Spuyten Duyvil in 2018. His work has appeared in American Letters & Commentary, VOLT, Denver Quarterly, Ninth Letter, Paperbag, and elsewhere. He is managing editor and poetry co-editor of Burnside Review and Burnside Review Press. He lives in Portland, Oregon.