Who Is She

To judge the games
others watch, their fictions,
what’s cold
to another person’s skin. She watches

seasons break
down, intersect, run
along parallel tracks
like subway lines

because she sometimes counts
more than four. And who’s going
to tell her to tally
the world another way?

Fever Dreams

Two turtles sleep
at the entrance
to a subway escalator
that only goes

up. Someone says
they’re hung
over. I don’t believe
him. Suddenly they show

their heads, then legs,
then crawl away. End
of scene—onto that subway
I only see

in dreams. Couldn’t recognize
who was riding
with me this time.
Could have been you.

Lean Into It

Terror in the subway
passages, in skyways, hallways that echo, tunnels
to dangerous thought. Too short,

too short, too short. She breathes
glottal stop free—nothing to keep her from hugging breezes,
kissing trees.

Horizontal Escalation

Let this be my plea
for relevance: be it subway
or skyway, I can see myself
out. I know when to exit.
I exist.