Getting Across (Partially Obscured by Fog)
Poetry by Nicole Tallman and Moira Walsh
On the night of the year when the veil is ░ ░░░ ░
sometimes our fingers catch on a thread
from the blackest of garments worn by ░ ░░░
Thanks to a hangnail, we get a glimpse
of ░ ░░░ ░, half in and half out of the dark,
fumbling, ░ ░░░ ░, and cursing about
parking spots, taxes, and Twitter clout—
and we start to yell “Leaves! Yellow leaves!
Grab ░ ░░░ with both hands!
Make the thing, love the thing, follow ░ ░░░,
or watch the autumn rain drip from the eaves.
Fooling yourself is the worst kind of lying!”
They don’t seem to hear us. But still, we keep trying.
Does fog make you nervous? Choose your own adventure!
Replace the wisps with words, e.g.
Line 1: the thinnest / a cobweb / silk chiffon
Line 3: the dead / Aunt Ned / the bed
Line 5: a figure / two dude-bros / three sisters
Line 6: obsessing / undressing / drunk-texting
Line 9: the world / your life / the mic
Line 10: your bands / demands / the sands