A Poem: The Light from the Hall | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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A Poem: The Light from the Hall 

Washes white
She smokes
Through the window
No fan
The blinds crooked
Bean can for ash (inside: a despicable oily blackness like
Strangled fear—

The nightmares of wild dogs) but
Most ends up
On the floor anyway

She leans lips strained
Pushing the smoke through the screen
Rather than blowing

A soft blue
From the television
(Like signs of old film diners)
Splashes her shirt and

When she smiles
(At something I say)
Her teeth

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