In America many women with heart shaped legs
will scale the long stairs, intention intact,
only to fall asleep in warm shafts of light.

In a sweatshop the young girl’s fingers begin to bleed.
She puts on gloves, blood pools in the fingertips
she cannot grip the thread, she cannot feel her arms.

On an abandoned farm a young man lies down
in abandoned hay. His breath steams the air.
The hay is dry though not as warm as cardboard.

In the Minnesota Iron Range when the iron ore poured
the living was rich. The jobs were too good
so they took them away, now all they dig is slag.

Somewhere in America a man stumbles on mausoleum steps.
The doors are locked to protect bones and dust.
Pressing his face to the cool stone he whispers Please let me in.