I thought this poem might be

about children, but I found


Maxine Cumin’s collection Nurture

as I sifted through piles of books,


the title which implies children

but isn’t about children at all


and anyway, I keep calling the book Nature

because I do that. I see a word


and read it as another,

change one letter in my mind,


superimpose what’s not there,

and let’s be honest, what’s not


in the title is here as I sit

on a deck that overlooks


the St. Vrain River, the sound

of water caught somewhere


between its potential of thunderous

rushing and the quick patter


of rain falling from the edge of the eaves,

the latter the only sound of water


this girl might really know,

and I do believe I must have changed


one letter somewhere, must have

superimposed this place over cracked


pavement, superimposed the dogleg

bend in the river, over water that flows


around curbs into storm sewers,

and while this all seems real enough,


a black plastic bag is caught

in a nearby tree. It hangs,


expanding and contracting

like a loose lung.


Cristina Trapani-Scott

Cristina Trapani-Scott is a writer and artist who lives in the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains with her partner. Her work has been published in the Paterson Literary Review, Hip Mama Magazine, Cleaver Magazine, and Orca: A Literary Journal, among others. She also holds an MFA in writing from the Naslund-Mann Graduate School of Writing at Spalding University. In addition, she teaches creative writing online and serves on the leadership team of the Writing Heights Writers Association. She also is a contributing editor at the Good River Review.

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