Selected by | Patricia Smith |
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publisher | |
pages | 88 |
THE LAST BEEP AND DOOR
I hold my breath, step into the wet mouth of November wind, arrive
at the river moving up and down in its rocky bed, the new art museum
that blinks its watery eye. I line up with the others waiting for the M23
bus, which stops for us and we enter it, have the pleasure of choosing
whether to sit or stand, which tan and blue-rimmed seat, which
window and moving view.
And the ride begins, gradual as a carousel. And all of us inside take
on that carousel stillness, as if forty invisible horses were beneath us
and lifting.