train windows


United States
40° 50' 29.8248" N, 73° 52' 48.468" W


in Appleton, Wisconsin, there is a boy named Cael

who dreams of Copenhagen and draws demonic flamingo.

his spine is curled the wrong way from countless years of binding.

his parents do not approve of his gender. he loves them anyway.




in Bay Village, Ohio, there is a girl named Roxy

who sleeps with her eyes open. her dreams climb

up her purple bedroom walls and sprinkle into her hair

as she watches, wide-eyed. she smiles like sunshine.




in Salem, Oregon, there is a boy named Andrew

who writes poetry about the laws of physics.

he is going to college to learn how to be a professional.

he has ramen-noodle hair and soup in his veins.

he told me once that sometimes, love can swallow you.




in Farmington Hills, Michigan, there is a boy named Jordan

with big hands and a smile that makes him look 6 years old.

his favorite word is cumbersome because he likes the way it rolls.

he kisses like a firework and hugs like a fireman.

i look for him in everyone.




in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, there is a boy named Kyle

who drinks green tea out of mason jars.

his dreadlocks elevate bridges and his soul is a fishing village.

his lip piercing sharpens his language; it glimmers under art museum lights. 




in Naperville, Illinois, there is a girl named Alisha

who has caramel skin and warrior eyes.

she files her nails to a point and keeps her hands to herself.

she is learning how to wear joy in the creases of her forehead.




somewhere, who cares where, there is a train chugging idly

along steel tracks, maneuvering passengers through greenery and local scenes.

the stories of strangers skid along Plexiglas windows before collapsing

to the ground, run-over by wheels that have places to be.


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