To You:

August 4, 2011
By Rainn BRONZE, Buffalo, New York
Rainn BRONZE, Buffalo, New York
3 articles 1 photo 0 comments

Such an understated candid
Walking unrealistically, stiff steps, to the school
Not bothering to look at the people below you but in front of you.
Library city steps, walking out of Copley Square station into the winter sunlight
Snow steamrolled down into the cracks making up
White whip lashes whittled into the street.
Neck against neck, exposed hands writing cold around their backs
Their feet have walked too far for you to understand
You never wasted one moment for that to be you.
A few more hours, years, paving the ocean floor
Only for you, never letting someone in; your life, your bed, your mind,
Your graces.
Here, the changing New England December they kiss,
Shaking in spring clothes, so ordinary, no prodigy, easing themselves into the pillar
Camouflaged from onlookers as you;
Seeking a pair of eyes to turn to and
Walk up the steps to do the same;
Shadows from the building to the right press impel on the people, weighing and crushing bodies till you almost see them snap open from the sides, confetti and nonsense littering the sidewalk.
They don’t die, as the sun shoos dark into its maw.
Your feet stumble when the world spins
On a new axis.
Resist the pull on your watch,
It is actually sorry you have been left behind at the heart.

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