ART LITERATURE ABOUT SUSTAINABILITY STAFF PERFORMING ARTS TOUCHSTONE
PAYTON GOSSE | Poetry WHERE WE'RE AT
Middle of avenue. This patch of smooth pavement. Hold to it. No driver will yipe. Those tires will never touch us. No stoplights, stop signs, or crossroads for cars to get mangled at. Just the one stiff road you drove in on. We’ll stay here tonight. It’ll snow, and we’ll wake past noon. Neighbors will have shoveled the path to my home — unlocked, uninsured, and built before me. But I’m troubled by safety. The snowballs here can’t fight — they’re thrown but they miss. I’ve slipped when puddles froze and put my lips to hot tea — both times, never felt a pinch. As for now, we lay in the street but we have yet to shiver. Icicles on passing cars break off, don’t shatter, but melt, just like my heart when we met. But you’re not from here. You’ll leave, somehow hurt, and I’ll be here, not knowing what pain is.
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