Mist
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

On the west side running path
\nmist-ghosts disappear into the future<\/p>\n

or rise to the surface as an impression
\nof color, or the outline of a limb,<\/p>\n

wafting close enough that I can see
\nthe ballooning of ribs sweaty
\nwith effort<\/p>\n

and the sinking again
\nof the ribs behind the spine\u2014<\/p>\n

& then the figures drift, sails half-filled
\nwith wind, back into grey<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

The man in black shorts is not too much faster\u2014
\na slow erasure into fog<\/p>\n

while my breath grows shallow
\ntrying to catch him. Always,<\/p>\n

I think I know this shape.
\nIf I could get close enough to see<\/p>\n

his face, I would lock eyes, ask
\nlet me keep up.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Mist covers my feet,
\nfills my lungs.\u00a0 The sound of water<\/p>\n

knocking the dock as keen<\/p>\n

as sounds from my mouth,
\nhiss of air in<\/p>\n

& wheeze as breath leaves
\nme, leaves me, leaves
\nme
\n<\/p>\n

Match
\n<\/strong>
\nThe lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher; she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.
\n\u2014Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Match Girl<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

Each snowflake melts on my skin. My breath tags the air.<\/p>\n

Depression<\/em> says the doctor. The word leaves a sticky residue when I
\npeel it off.<\/p>\n

The stars form a long trail of fire that dusts the bridge, ignites
\nthe buildings swimming in the river.<\/p>\n

I keep a list of things I want to tell you.<\/p>\n

The city is on fire
\nFrozen tears are falling from the sky
\nThere was a woman on the subway wearing a dress made of garbage bags
\nI\u2019m making one for myself<\/p>\n

<\/em>You flicker through windows, haunt each passing stranger\u2019s face. When I wrap
\nmy arms around myself, your fingers gutter my ribs.<\/p>\n

I dread night\u2019s arctic teeth. I find another box of matches, light them all at once.<\/p>\n

The Nightingale
\n<\/strong>
\n\u201cYou must always remain with me,\u201d said the emperor. \u201cYou shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.\u201d
\n\u2014 Hans Christian Andersen, The Nightingale<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

First, the streaked gilly\u2019ver<\/em>. The tulip blended with midnight.<\/p>\n

A touch of madder root for the cheek. Lead & slaked lime for the lashes.<\/p>\n

Then finally:\u00a0 bellows, levers & valves, hidden under tinseled gold. And that voice.<\/p>\n

*
\n*
\n*<\/p>\n

You dye your hair black, I cut mine short.<\/p>\n

You buy a white leather jacket. I wear green vinyl shoes & stack band-aids
\non my heels.<\/p>\n

At 4 am, the man at the West Village piano bar sounds like Barry Manilow.<\/p>\n

*
\n*<\/p>\n

First, we were kids in the suburbs. In Peter Pan, you sang falsetto while I danced en pointe<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Tinkerbell effervesced around the stage. Fairy dust drifted out into the audience.<\/p>\n

You said If you need me, just blink twice. <\/em><\/p>\n

*
\n*<\/p>\n

All these years I thought you were the real bird; I thought I was the real bird.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

At the Greek diner, we get pancakes. You tell me about your childhood dream girl, the one named Buttercup, whose hair has never been cut.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mist On the west side running path mist-ghosts disappear into the future or rise to the surface as an impression of color, or the outline of a limb, wafting close enough that I can see the ballooning of ribs sweaty with effort and the sinking again of the ribs behind the spine\u2014 & then the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2254","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2254","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2254"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2254\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2410,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2254\/revisions\/2410"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2254"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2254"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2254"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}