High School/Binder

By: Kathryn Hall

With the necessary zip pouch for pencils

and three-ringed, it balanced on the arm, left,

the elbow tucked above the hip. No closed

for today possibilities except on the walk

to and from. How steadfast the moss filled

the letters spelling the names of streets stamped

in concrete, soft, as one stepped off

the curb. How thoughtful the green canopy

above, promising tomorrow, tomorrow, leaf,

leaf, a bell so unlike the rattle

and shuffle of slam or bunk. Reading the light

filled script through the network of branches,

one learned skin was the same as water,

water the same as trees and trees as air.

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Kathryn Hall grew up in Oregon and has always loved rain--and the solitude given by the enormous forests always in reach. Her poems have appeared in many places, including the New England Review, Sycamore Review, and Rattle.