"In August, In the City" by David Hopson

In August, In the City

We land in the aisles of British fiction 
to soak in the air conditioning. Your fingers play
the spines of the Brontës. 
I’ve seen you around. 
At the farmers market with a lick 
of bicycle grease on your calf, 
your canvas bag flush 
with beets. Or bundled, blocks ahead, urging 
your little dog through the snow. 
Today, you’ve scissored your clothes 
to the season: cutoff jeans 
and a sleeveless concert tee 
slit to the hem. The compass 
inked on your side points north. 
Nipples hard-bitten by the cold. 
You shelve Villette and music pours 
from the dark curls under your arm. 
Odd little bits of information, 
writes Lawrence, stir unfathomable passion.
In three lifetimes, I could never read enough.




Originally published in POETRY Magazine

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David Hopson is the author of the novel, All the Lasting Things. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry, Copper Nickel, The Southern Review, Washington Square Review, and Foglifter, among others. He lives in Brooklyn, NY.

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