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(Untitled, the high whine)
The high whine of being held back the subway moans for us the speaker can't transmit the problem the voice of the carman is broken
the repetitive ringing when the doors try to close the clank and thud the jerk pull stop
the bounce the shake the time it takes the announcement the adventure the many singular people
teh tah, tah teh teh tah, tah teh
I'm out of breath for you my eyes chase the lights racing by - white dashes in a black tunnel I will never walk through
the high pitch of breaks the window shake of hinges people hop to their feet, hips jut as the train segments shift the low rumble drowns us
It's the distant sounds of breaks and turning the clatter from what's under and why I write and why we go over a bridge closer to the real world, the sky I need this bridge too much
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Summer Love |
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The anticipation of a vanilla cone with chocolate Jimmies. Dark waxy sprinkles same name as my dad. My eyes see white swirls rising to the sky, candied bodies. I wait on dirty city streets for icecream trucks to pull me from water play while my hands press the cold metal holes of a fountain like it's blue and I'm holding back its air.
I brush past my father's temptations while the air held his sweet sticky eyes. His frozen delights: a stranger's hips, a breakfast waitress. Jimmy loved summer and all that skin, summer bodies splashed into him like the full cups of water I dropped to the ground after filling at the fountain.
My desire for attention competed with the powers of attraction. Like a fountain I felt adult temptation take over the air - the way new pubescent boys learn to hold you with eyes that race through blood pulsing brains, their bodies precursors to what they will be, back pockets of bad condoms they call Jimmies, full bikinis grab their attention from my summer love of city water.
My August mustache of many colors bleeds to goatees. Water repels the residue in my hair touched by tarnished fingers- green #4, yellow 13. In the air the smell of cement stained with footprints, ketchup spit, remains of a snow cone's melted body. Is gum like rubber as my big brother says? I wonder. My eyes watch nonstop teenage teeth chew plastic. I'm running through fountain spray not thinking of Jimmy.
But soon the lessons of desire and attention Jimmy's world designed will pattern my body. I laid down toes to head under a fountain. Learned to want it too young in back seats of cars when it hurts when air left each lung and I dreamed of park water. Experience peels thin layers of color from my eyes.
My mother's sweetness turned to anger that hurts the eyes, anger strong as attraction claiming her body. She stopped her soft serve. Held it back from Jimmy. Years later, I marveled at her daring like the big kids who stood up on swingsets and laughed fuller than fountains big kids I watched from my sand box soaked in water almost forgetting to breath in summer air.
My fountain dried in the adolescence air. Jimmy never watched the water. My body became an icecream truck in summertime cities. My pale eyes watched rainbow sprinkles splatter on endless streets.
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