the pulled card is a toppling tower–
a mulberry tree in the way of cabling
men with beards
and chainsaws
exhale warm clouds
against a wall of Detroit winter air
views of the new condo development
are revealed branch by falling branch
with plastic bags caught like
futile parachutes
I thought,
when they say limb from limb
this is what they mean
and I put on white noise
to overwhelm the crunching
of the chipper
and the Fargo references–
bodies disappearing,
data coming
a fire starts, perhaps from a lightning bolt
it’s supposed to be about a clearing,
a necessary reset but the
desperation provokes people
to jump from windows,
I read online
as the man drives a forklift erratically
later, in absence of the tree
a security light at the empty park
blinks on and off as if triggered by ghosts
our apartment is newly illuminated–
a slow strobe to add atmosphere to Netflix
the first family that lived here
had the same surname as mine
I have run my finger across it
on a plaque that says 1880
Planet Detroit and Room Project partnered to curate and publish climate poems from our community. Read the rest of the poems here.