Hellbent on beauty was tagged on the side
of a retention wall a few yards from the river. All
the flowers shorter than black-eyed susans
looked earthward as if they understood. At dusk,
the strays would gather where the grass
ended to eat the day’s trash. We would sit on
the middle branches of the birches across the way
and imbibe the rhythms of the scene. How often
lips were licked, paws cleaned. We would watch
the dimming sky turn the feast into only flickering
mirrored eyes. This is how I learned the value
of silence. If we made noise, the show was over
and everyone left hungry. This is how I learned
to love leaving: when at last we slunk away
everyone was satisfied. And how (if you were
very careful, very still) the thinnest limb
could hold you—even night respects
how bodies can quiet into shadows.

John A. Nieves’ poems appear in journals such as: Crazyhorse, Southern Review, Willow Springs, North American Review and Massachusetts Review. His first book, Curio, won the Elixir Press Annual Judges Prize. He’s an Associate Professor at Salisbury University and an editor of The Shore Poetry.