Anna Tomlinson
94.7 FM
I watched lamplight meet dark camellia
leaves against faint pink sky. Out there,
slow churn of car tires, feathered
stillness. Maybe an owl. Across the way
each neighbor made their own sign: RV,
globed driveway light, long upper windows
burning red. Each pane looked over the valley,
long flood of collapsed field hay. Voice of firs,
rubber soft. I held the radio wire up. What
was on, always providence. I was waiting
for the world to march in. I thought it would bloom
like a bomb or a firecracker. In my reflection
I sat crosslegged and still. The eyes of the house
dark, heat clicking off. Incessant drip of rain.
Anna Tomlinson reads “94.7 FM”
Anna Tomlinson’s poems have appeared in THRUSH, Ploughshares, The Adroit Journal, Fugue, Blackbird and elsewhere. She is a graduate of the University of Virginia’s MFA program and lives in Salt Lake City. Her work can be found at annatomlinsonpoet.com.