Friday, July 9, 2010

1972


August reeks railway flats, slops its steaming tongue
into mothy thickness behind the kitchen sink
16 floors above Union Square, Sherry dangles

her foot from the window ledge, her head bent
back over wicker chair, frayed and pocked
with growing holes she has assisted with
wet fingers. The lanky limbs of a Rolling Stones
tune drifts from the floor below... Saw you stretched out, 
in-a-room ten oh nine; A smile on your face, 

"and tear in your eye," she sings.
Ashes gather in her lap, then fly as the fan's neck 
makes its rickety journey from the far corner of the room.
From the street the smell of thin meat roasting
girls in pink shorts rollerskate toward 14th

15th, 16th, 17th, 18th now, the years she's
sucked it in, all the endless air that comes
from where? She can't even begin to wonder
but it does come, always, and this thought inspires
brief movement, a reach for the beaded bottle,
a slow pour down the throat. A smile. An arrival.

Exile never sounded so sweet
as when she listened from between floors,
her head bent back, a mercy of river air through the window.

5 comments:

Ande said...

This one is flowing; thick strokes creates a striking "another" reality.

Jenny Enochsson said...

Wow, Megan. The narrative really captured my attention. The spirit of the ablum and era mentioned echoes through the lines.

I just love

"Ashes gather in her lap, then fly as the fan's neck/makes its rickety journey from the far corner of the room"

and the last stanza.

Thomas Sheridan said...

The second last stanza is the business! I printed this out and read it loudly and it is so percussive. Although in my accent I am sure it loses the "New York" impact. Anyways Megan, really love it this work.

Eileen T O'Neill - Written Words said...

Megan,
This truly captures a moment in time......and a happier time!

Eileen

Megan Duffy said...

thank you, all

Thomas: one of the greatest compliments a poet can get is when someone has printed out their work and read it aloud. Thank you.