|
by Eliseo Martinez
New York City is a cold city
New York City is a cold city
when you watch small parts of it
from an outdoor subway platform
with no train in sight.
Looking through the chain link fence
of steel butterfly wings,
sewn together
into empty diamond leather,
I watched a highway overpass and the traffic
crawl along the face of the setting sun like
a snake covered in honey.
It was hard to believe in the sky, in the
clouds that floated above us like
the ghosts of lost ships until
the train came over the hill in
a small, gray sunrise the size of
old friends waving hello.
The train stopped.
the doors opened and then
closed behind me as I stepped inside in
a soft and safe embrace.
This city is cold but
this city also holds you close
in very small moments like rain,
in its opening and
closing doors.
If you ever find yourself in NYC,
try the subway if you want
to know how it feels
to find something waiting
for you
after you die.
Golden Arms
The outstretched arms of the falling sun
Reach through my window and brush the walls
Of my room with the skin of living, breathing
Orange music.
It's what I like best about the sun:
the way it screams
hello and the
way it sings
goodbye.
More
Poetry Row ...
----
Reader Comments
No comments.
|
