I want to tell you that the subway map
Looks like a disembodied heart, with colored lines
Spilling blood from broken vessels. You should know
The fog from the city has not left since this morning,
And by now it must have sunk deep enough
To become a part of me; I am not the only one
Who has seen the cold mist beneath their skin,
Reflected over walls of rolling brick. An image,
Disconnected from everyone and everything.
I am among those who wonder
If love is salvation or self-destruction:
If it takes more bravery to say “I love you”
or “I’m leaving you”, and if either
Is tantamount to suicide.
blankspaceblankDarling, this story has been told too many times
And they had to cut the locks from the couple’s bridge in Paris
Because the weight was too heavy to bear; we know better
Than to hope for forever. We have traded our locks
For copper coins, and cast them in the river below.
We wait for a splash of water and not a clang
Of discordant metal from those who came before, yet
I still hear the reverberations of their oaths
As I ride this empty subway car. A part of me
Cannot help but believe this story will end the same way
blankspaceblankEven if it is you and I who tell it.
This piece was published by Polyphony LIT in Volume 14. You can buy a copy here.