musings from the subway

For Kate...

words hung in the air like night... dark, simple, inevitable

earlier that evening we ate sushi,
strolled through lavish brownstone covered neighborhoods
and down to the pier to stare at the Brooklyn Bridge
we mused over books filled with masterpieces
in a mist of Rose' and Gustav Klint

it was like a lost connection during a moment of truth.
a note sung with a strained voice
a lush flower grown in dead soil
a master painting for a blind king
staring in the eyes of a toad
looking for a prince

the subway smelt like dirty armpits and neglected assholes
late at night, she finds it quiet
but not deserted
the constant thud of rubber meeting metal
as if for the first time
but never for the last
she takes a seat next to the homeless woman sprawled across two
noticing the girl standing nearby-
has the same sandals
that she wore yesterday
she breathes a sigh of relief
rubber meets metal again, another harsh greeting
spoken in a language she is glad not to know

the train bursts into the station
she steps off the platform
into her carriage

moving towards home
in a tunnel somewhere beneath the East River
she felt so full of life that she almost burst
songs moved her so completely
becoming as much a part of her as her blood and fingernails
the motion of the train flowed through her veins like venom
entangling themselves in notes and chords
she radiated something everyone could sense
but no one could put their finger on