7/28/2015
"It was a queer, sultry summer; the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York."* Sylvia Plath
I used to believe
not think, that word implies
there is effort,
that I was stuck in a bayou of
twigs that stuck into sand colored
thick dirt. that the hallways at school
sunk me with every step.
The sun stayed up higher the
later it got and soon I
realized that no matter how hot it
shone i just felt embarrassed
for it like a ****** woman you
see at a bar late at night in a city.
the city was
my frequent companion, yes
six times in two months
I counted: I had been only
four times last year
I still did not know
where I was and why I was
Even the amethysts and
little emeralds in the street signs
seemed sickly to me after a while,
seemed dull and tiring and
i stood in the sidewalks in alphabet city,
Villanti eating a peach on a stoop,
and the subway grate below me pulled me up with its twirling vines of ***** air
and pulled me down
