Life Off 152 & Broadway
Walking the length of the subway train—
this morning I woke myself to screaming,
a hollow face, grey in early light,
lay beside mine on the pillow.
Got up for Good Morning America
to let my mother know I haven’t
yet starved, called to hear her
voice, all softened by morning.
Took the N to Coney Island,
but was sick and sick and sick.
Speaking Spanish to white people,
black people, Spanish people, I’m
asking for the Metro, but looking
for the subway.
Fifth Avenue and I’m walking
Central Park, walking through film
crews and climbing the backs
of memorials to better see the water.
Following the snake of the subway
train—a bum rips me to the ground,
my face pressed into the space
between rail-cars. The rats
are as big as they say they are
down here.
Flashing and sparking through
the darkness that is the timeless
underground, I turn over and it
is the same grey face.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
LIfe off 152 & Broadway
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1 comments:
Wait, did the speaker get tossed down where the subway rails are? Wouldn't she be squashed? That could use a little clarification, and it came rather abruptly compared with the leisurely nature of the rest of the piece.
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