Leveler Poetry Journal
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For Visiting Denver, Returning Home


Knowledge that visiting your

town would be built around

a legend of cars with at least

one out of four hubcaps missing,

that only would be the level

of sentiment. I won’t be having

more children—I won’t be crying

the grey through the blinds, speaking

shorthand benedictions

and surrenders into the one-way

radio, wailing the only thing

when I fill up the ice tray, wailing

the only thing when I close

the bathroom door, take a shit

and maybe-maybe find a way

to be clean. And this is the year

when my son curls his casual frame,

tucks our kittens into his bamboo

ribs, builds shelter with each

exhale of tenderness, the force

of these bendings so tall. Now

I say goodbye to so many other

endings and then keep walking

through to the ones that do not

end—I say goodbye to my child

at this doorway and yet find him

still on the other side.

Amie Zimmerman