Amy Soricelli - 2
Why Taking the #6 Train From
You don't know how people live
she told me.
How they crawl across the floor on all fours
how they scream in the night,
spit glass through those sounds in your head.
You don't know how hard it was to end up here
on the edge of this cliff.
She's ranting on the #6 train
in small puffs of black air.
Sharing her small space of seat
with a pregnant woman –
shaking her fists at the holes in her sleeves.
Those mittens will get caught
like lies between your teeth.
Eyes darting to her then me;
a sliver of air fits between her coat
and the long loose lines of my legs.
Sharing thin strips of black hollow
air/cloudy windows with names in markers
Smeared across the glass.
I drink my coffee - the swallowed up gathering of us
in deep woolen coats
and those blank, startled noises pushing us
along slamming into stops
and those lights from the tunnel.