No Place Like Nome by Gerald Yelle

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Scattered stones poke through

snow like milk-bottle sins

in our kindergarten catechism

–and it never dawned on us

to ask why black is bad

–are we that afraid of the dark?

We like to think it’s not

a black and white world –just

look at all the shades of gray.

No, look closer: it’s nothing

but a mix of black and white.

Get high enough the picnic tables

look like dominoes.

And core samples end-to-end

in the oil fields: sewer-line

maps we follow all the way

to better times. We take month-

long excursions on icefloes

and nail driftwood to

stock pens. Stoke fires and set

smokescreens thinking  

we’ll escape in the updraft.

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