Poems by JP Allen

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Manhattan Remembered

by JP Allen

From Canary Fall 2017

JP grew up in central Kentucky's Rolling Fork watershed, where limestone soil strengthens the horses' bones. He has lived in two small landlocked towns and two coastal cities, most recently Baltimore, above the narrow valley of the Jones Falls.

The brink of autumn. The river’s rim.
Glass cliffs burn
like fountains full of flipped coins,
magic lamps
on their last wish. Window washers
hang by threads.
Twilight stays late. Every surface
flaunts its edge.

Under impending leaves, a summer
lover passes
half a heart-shaped pendant built to
crack. The curbs
teeter with hurry’s unwitting gymnasts.
Green cascades
to red. In rooftop bars, day traders
shield their eyes.

The river, gold and gray, keeps rising
inch by inch.




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