Iowa Poem
by Agnes Lam

What can I tell you about Iowa
you did not already know?

Writers around the world dream
to be here, at least once in a lifetime?

Before Prairie Lights on Sunday evenings,
readers and writers linger?

On Iowa Avenue,
lines of poetry lead to a dome of gold?

Around the corner of Market and Linn,
you’ll find free wireless with mint.

The restaurant beside that
serves trout succulent on rice with lemon.

Where Prentiss crosses Gilbert, a mini
rice cooker costs thirty-nine.

In a boutique on Dubuque,
clear white hangers sell ten to a dollar.

An Asian lady will alter your clothes
in a shop on Burlington.

Sirens herald through the day
that angels from Mercy are on their way.

Clinton once stayed in a house on Linn where
thirty clocks chime the hour.
On Washington, an old man
off to post a letter picks up litter.

The orchid florist at Farmers’ Market
has three hundred plants at home.

A squirrel hops from a tree
as green walnut balls bounce on the pavement.

When orchards glow with Songs of September,
apples can be picked for fights.

A tornado took the roof
off a dorm leaving a blanket of stars.

The river promises not to flood for
another five hundred years.

On a day of rain, someone
admires my umbrella playing Mozart.

Every night I sleep with the autumn moon
in a house a century old.

I wake to the sun streaming
through beige curtains onto a hardwood floor.

These lines I wrote as I did my laundry
like many a poet here.

What can I tell you about
Iowa you did not already know?

About the writer Agnes Lam was born in Hong Kong and completed a Ph.D. in linguistics in America. She is the author of two poetry collections and now teaches at the University of Hong Kong. She is a 2008 International Writing Program participant.