I’m going to start doing Poetry Fridays–like, a weekly poetry post. Yerp.
The red emergency exit lights blink at me,
innocent and waiting each day for
some kind of hysteria, for
when the stairs will be crowded,
warm bodies mashing together
Not like today.
One in three stair travelers glance at me,
that person on the bench with books and bags
and earphones and worn white Keds,
the one whom no one is sitting by
for whatever reason.
I Sit Still
The bell tower chimes eleven times
and a leaf falls to the concrete.
Morning wind tickles my face,
hair brushing my flushed cheeks.
Wheels and leaves and shadows
and humans move
as I sit still with concrete and trees.
Smiling you sit alone, so I know
your secret–it’s mine as well.