United States
40° 48' 11.1456" N, 72° 52' 9.3756" W

City buildings lean forward to listen,
but they cannot hear the whispered
nothings you tossed around the night
before--mi mariposa, mi pajarito, but
never simply beautiful. Taxis beep,
tourists oo and ah wildly, drills and
cranes echo through the Big Apple
brigade, as men with hard hats fix the
broken streams we swim along. Stepping
back for a moment, I search for caesura
in the mix of this chaotic composition
unfolding before us, while your body
spirals downward, drowning in a
cacophony of empty orders and
obligations. We split at 40th and 5th
Avenue. It’s 1400 on a Sunday afternoon.
I watch as you mindlessly glide through
rows of people, marching to the rhythm
you never stopped to hear while the
music runs through my veins, and
I flap my wings to the spontaneous
syncopation of the unplanned day.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741