A flicker at the edge of the headlight—
a hare, barely missing the wheels.

Hard Copy and America’s Most Wanted
viewed from the pullout sofabed.

Mock orange trees, a dried out swimming pool,
lizards cooling under carports.

She, leaning on a claw-bottomed aluminum cane, tendrils of plastic tubing trailing from her nose;

and he, overgrown and mossy on his knees, telling me to call
him “Grampa” no matter what my daddy says.

His hush money: a teddy bear clutching
faux satin roses, redolent of musk and gasoline,

paid for with greenbacks skimmed off the top
of the Disabled Veteran’s Bingo Night pot.

At the Desert Museum I learn the names
of Sonoran butterflies, repeat them as a charm:

Alcestis hairstreak, Mormo metalmark,
Tristis duskywing, Southern dogface,

far-fetched, delicate creatures,
deliver me, deliver me.



Nora Frazin holds a B.A. in English from Grinnell College. She lives in Chicago and works at a nonprofit running after school programming for high schoolers. She writes poems too. Her work recently appeared in 3Elements Review.

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