she walked down the Brooklyn Bridge, an oxidized statue:
jade, black & light grey through the snow. i cannot tell
the rust from her scars, solarized from days long gone--
her reeling on the platform, amidst woolen coats & hats
& an accordion imploding beneath the sign which said
'34th Street'. 'take me away from here and take me back,'
the music cried. in the crowd she kept her disguise &
moved along until she saw the sun. but the crossroads
led nowhere but yellow taxis & snow on the pavement.
'you stepped on me, bitch,' a fat woman shouted &
pushed her. scraps of metal were falling off her onto
dirty footprints--she could not feel her tears either.
they blended into the rusted cracks down her body,
leaving a dark brown trail in the snow. here came
the Brooklyn Bridge, flashlight & faded bloom
of strangers. there must be a place where
she could hang her mind, while the stone
of her dissolved & faded.
Inspired by Janelle Stone's photography.
No comments:
Post a Comment