About the Poems
by Carrie Olivia Adams
This sequence of poems counts among its cities of origin Prague and Chicago; both are cities of water, but neither with an ocean in sight. Its tone is both claustrophobic and voyeuristic—much like the domestic sphere. I have a curvy, dark brown leather chair in my front windows, and I do indeed sit there and watch my neighbors come and go between poems, between lines. I’ve learned so many of the little details of their lives, but not their names. If you walk down Wolcott and see my green eyes staring out, don’t mind me, just keep on as though no one were watching.