Poem – 23rd Street Complex


Denis’s eyes clear blue and bright,
his body a wand.
–How are you?– and I see
his pupils glare
–I’m in a rage. Everything,
just everything–
–What’s going on?–
–I want to live–
The words flare, drop
on the sidewalk, then curl
in charcoal at our feet

I hold Denis tight in my gaze
as we ripple together
in the brutal spring tide
of fresh river scent.
I hold the daily forms of rupture
tenderly, new to the spider’s
art, the web of spit
and long drop from center.

Is it his death or mine
standing beside us   camouflaged as one
waiting casually for another
as our bones point with murderous urban
accuracy to the theatre entrance.

© Copyright 2024 Beatrix Gates