Through My Kitchen Window


mostly, I hear a phone ringing. Not much else.

Maybe I’d stand at the window more often


if the view were nicer—a lush forest

and a little doe eating red berries from a bush.


Even if she were only there briefly, even if

she never looked at me before leaping off,


it’d be better than this. What brings me here,

usually, is some dish I left out overnight.


(This time it’s a brown and withering

green salad.) But I want to be able to say


that it’s hope that brings me to the window,

that I made too much salad hoping for company.

Nathan McClain is the author of Scale (Four Way Books, 2017), a recipient of scholarships from The Frost Place and the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference, and a graduate of Warren Wilson's MFA Program for Writers. A Cave Canem fellow, his poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Callaloo, Ploughshares, American Poets, Sou'wester, Broadsided, and Tinderbox. He lives in Brooklyn.