featured poem of the week
leaving new york.
"I'm leaving New York and I'm not coming back."
I feel adult and important as I say this, As if somehow in my depression and haught I could claim that the scene is over, that it matters to no one. Then I don't have to admit it kicked my ass, that my tail is between my legs. "New York is for the rich and the young." We're in my Brooklyn living room my former Cook Street friends, here by way of Portland, by Seattle, by a Minnesota MFA program It's gray outside, I say they brought the storm that kept us up all night as I waited for the fire escape by my head to spark. Joey says doors just kept shutting He had no choice to go It was a sign Becca agrees, but they have interlocked hands and five years of love between them. I always thought I'd leave New York I just never thought I'd do it alone I never thought any of this would happen and I whine and lament the shift in paradigm -- these empty arms of mine -- I stop and smile Say, "I just can't seem to meet anyone." We joke and reminisce of the days I had four dates a week when I wore the same black dress, rinsed in the bathroom sink, and how I had perfected the first kiss and first sway. I always was good at finding them so damn bad at making them stay. It's been raining for two weeks My cat ran away again Through the drizzle I peer past fences I hang posters, I pray for a glimpse of black in the trees, in the bushes I don't think she's coming home this time, I refuse to cry to think of Audrey Hepburn in alley, in New York, in heels, in rain "cat cat cat cat oh cat!" The useless feeling lives in my hands Paralyzes my arms, locks my elbows My eyes glaze and my memory is faulty "It's for shit, my memory is for shit!" I slam my hand on the table then remember to smile Pretend it's ok that being drunk for a year is funny That climbing out of one bed and into another is fine that I don't miss 2005, who needs it anyway And that I'm perfectly ok with this solitude that hangs from my skin like dew, like spider webs, like lipstick dried and powdered and crushed in purse bottoms Like lipstick I prufrock my way, party to party chairs bruise thighs Words tumble from my lips, meaningless I cover up breasts I used to bare I should want to be here, I tell myself over bar room bathroom sink I should want to care, Hand to reflection, how the fuck did I get so old? meaningless I don't want meaningless I don't want the man who falls in love only with my spread meaningless I don't want meaningless time is running out meaningless for god's sake, I don't want meaningless! So yes, I'm leaving New York Leaving it to the rich Leaving it for the coupled, united Leaving it for the young and foolish Leaving it for the dreamers Leaving it for those who buy the postcards Sinatra said, “if you can make it here you can make it anywhere,” but he never sang about how long you had to stay. And I don't know If I'm moving on Or if I'm running away. - Originally published in The Best of Stain, Vol. 2 |
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