Homeless Camps along I-240 East, and: In Decimals

Abstract

Homeless Camps along I-240 East, and: In Decimals Holly Cian (bio) Homeless Camps along I-240 East A line of tents spike the hillside, tuckedbetween fence and row of cypress, tarp attached to protect from the weather. Shopping carts scattered. Pieces of bicycle.The curves and points of the edges feel like phases of the moon—a steady stream of cans and chip wrappers, little bagsof gathered food spill into the highway; two lines of cars round the corner and the soft tips of mountainsrise like hearts full of promise and hearts unexplained, the deep curve of a broad river,the purple sky bursting with rain. [End Page 93] In Decimals A fraction is a part of something, as though you can hold itin your hand like popcorn or jilted petals, bits of thistle seedfor the backyard birds. A decimal is marked on a line, a space, an equivalentpassage of parts of time; when we've gone from beingone to being one and one-tenth. Like a cluster of leaves testing its segments.The culmination of tissue and air, eyes and cheekbones,the iris that enhances the pupil and all its dark longing.The crooked murmur of fingers completing themselves on my palm. I'm starting to wonder about the part of you missing,the part that slips into the rocks of rivers like an argental fish,resplendent and fleeting in black water. The days in sectors and lines in the wide sky.A thicket of branch, in your sightline, spacing the pearlsky, the mix of light and shadow. [End Page 94] Holly Cian holly cian holds a B.A. in creative writing from the College of Charleston and an M.A. in literature from Western Carolina University. Her poems have been published in Pinesong, the Great Smokies Review, Sixfold, and in the anthology Witness: Appalachia to Hatteras. She lives in Asheville, N.C. Copyright © 2023 University of North Dakota