What Remains
after Han Vanderhart
Not the bowling alley. Not Videl Video.
Not the Five & Dime, back wall lined with aquariums,
goldfish and guppies who ignore the children
nose-pressed to glass, float under fluorescents
like indifferent angels. Not the pulp mill
or the logging trucks, not the red tram climbing
the mountainside to scan the channel
from on high. Have I brought you to a town
or an archive, shuttered storefronts
sacrificed on the altar of cruise-kitsch?
Have I given you a home or a blank page
on which to write a list of what remains:
preschool, playground zipline, plant nursery
along the highway where the new sprouts
stretch toward misted greenhouse glass,
uninterested in the history of the soil.




