Elizabeth
Switaj
-
5 poems -
7/7
subway aftermath
of street-closed festival:
infant turtles in plastic, plastic swords
could be Tokyo or
Hiratsuka
but in New York
no one believes
rain means
Weaver with loose ends,
Herder with loose beasts
must wait another year to kiss again, to speak
Sophia’s
Summer Night
I know couple arguing
in West 4th station oven
love by same narrowing
of eyes
as let you know I love
this world
Tinted Rose
I fell asleep you
painted
my two windows rose
you left I woke
rose fingers pressed to frame
where dirt darkened pads
couldn’t see a thing
could feel storm heat
pulling everything in me to my skin
getting only sweat to show on my face
I mean to say clouds rose
over abandoned masonry
shells across the roof
from my apartment
and I turned on the lights
until thunder crashed
its throb up through my legs
I could see
I closed my eyes
& opened them to light
blown out
knelt beside west
window
counted seconds from trembling to image
of roof below my fire escape on fire
of black beams halfway down
if I measure by oak
of arms three red inches from shoulders
looks like you could
breathe blood
and then the lights return
when I send you
this poem
I know you’ll bring turpentine
or just open my window
but you’ll be here
Rebecca’s
Last Words
Ten years ago mother
caught me
with feathers braided in hair
It had been going on for years
My hair so dark I should have stayed
with crows & ravens
Such dark smoke
I should’ve
stayed in Russia
but who will hit me now
if I try to fly
with fire popping all my work behind me?
But what’s
this blonde thing
curled on the ledge?
Come hold my hand
Don’t cry
you’ll weigh us down
You’ll see
we’re finally escaping
F Train
Between Storm & Sunset
after York Street
bats cling to concrete
behind bulbs like their simpler bodies
and wrap light away with wings
we surface to greyed
sky
before they can fly & flash us blind
it gets dark behind
us
