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Jenn Habel

And Then, of Course, Thereís Hope

At 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday in April the doors

to the Pikes Peak F & AM Lodge

on Prospect Street are open. Members of that

Prince Hall Affiliated order smile

and nod as two doors south a woman says, "God,

heís unbearable," then laughs.

The last sun slants her bared feet, free and rich

as the gold for which the stateís

first Masons came; surely the owner of that blue

hound on Custer will be home

soon, and itís possible the groupís convened

in the Counterpoint building

for some purpose other than to keep gays off

the school board or city council.

I donít know why another Monet tacked to some-

oneís wall makes me think

the world will go on. Why one stunted daffodil

outside a rental house and Iím

alive. The International Political Economy major

had a question for last nightís

activist speaker: Given all the injustice sheíd been

discussing, how does she stay

hopeful? She threw her black rope of hair over one

shoulder. My lifeís pretty good,

she said. My kids and I laugh a lot. We like to dance.


Jenn Habel's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in publications such as The Greensboro Review, Southern Poetry Review, and Puerto del Sol. She lives in Colorado Springs.

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