Letter From Minnesota: On Living in the Hour of Cities Under Siege

“On Living in the Hour of Cities Under Siege”

It is a time of being sorted by skin and hair, by mother tongue,
as being from here or there, as pepper spray fills in the air
until the whole city stinks of it, and the men who arrived in rented cars
with out-of-state plates, with faces covered, begin their hunt
for carpenters, house maids, dish washers, kindergarten kids,
for anyone who, to them, looks like they aren’t from here.
They’ll pull you through the window of your car.
They will not tell you who they are, who is in command.
They wear a little of the alphabet and do not know
that ice out also means the date in spring when
it is forbidden any longer to fish on the lakes.
They tackle and beat and cuff. It is never enough.
This is where the people make their stand.
These are the city’s barricades and fires,
leaf blowers blowing the tear gas back.
Here are the bouquets left in the snow for the dead,
candles in glass jars guttering out, hymns once sung in church.
Anyone may be taken, and those who stand
in the way are shot in the head.
This is what should be said to the coming cities:
you’ll need gas masks, goggles, armbands, milk for your eyes,
the name of someone who will search if you disappear.
When the time comes, take in anyone who needs to hide,
bring pots of food to front lines everywhere,
hot soup and cocoa, a roast potato to warm the hands.
When the time comes, listen to the whistles, the car horns, the cries in the air.

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“On Living in the Hour of Cities Under Siege” is forthcoming from Otherwhere: New and Selected Poems, 1976-2026, to be published by Scribner Books in September 2026.