NASA confirmed a meteor exploded
over Pittsburgh like thirty tons of TNT.
Some thought it was a bomb. A knock
on the door the day of eviction.
On another day, a bridge fell.
There is barely a wake at the point
where the Three Rivers meet. Locals
talk about a fourth river geologists
say is an aquifer formed by ancient
glaciers trapping water. There is more
water now: the weight of ice melt
and underground saturation re-tilting
Earth’s axis. A city can drown.
Some bodies seek gravity,
never find it, never land.
—
H.E. Fisher (she/they) is the author of the collection Sterile Field (Free Lines Press, 2022) and chapbook Jane Almost Always Smiles (Moonstone Arts Center Press, 2022). H.E.’s poems have appeared in Tupelo Quarterly, Psaltery & Lyre, and Whale Road Review, among other publications. H.E. was awarded City College of New York’s 2019 Stark Poetry Prize and has received nominations for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize.
