Amplification

 

A city grows in my left palm. 

The people teeter on curved lines. 

The subway wraps around my finger like a promise. 

I like to send endings to myself and forget who wrote them. 

When the skyscraper tips over, we hold hands. 

Too fragile, and over. 

 

 

Union Station

 

Sit and shudder to life. 

Twist the glowing red numbers. 

If you predict the loss, remember to point the way. 

Relief is at the next stop.
 

 

 

A city bursts inside of me

 

My head becomes heavy from bloom. 

The lake leaks out of my eyes. 

I’m pregnant with families. 

They spill onto my toes and set up tents. 

I can hear crying on my kneecaps. 

At night, a train shivers with longing.