The reverence is broken by a subway evangelist
Who insists that the mayor knew the accident would happen
And offers us copies of handwritten literature
Defending her argument
And gives us coupons for discounted storage
On Staten Island
Ascending the steps, the grime on the subway
I acquire the next cup of coffee
On route to the flower shop
Off of Newman and Stray
Saddled behind the register
In a cross-ward stance
I think to myself
"What's the Latin word for dying of boredom?"
For I fell onto the ice when
A woman walks in, I'm thinking she's Russian
Redolent of beet soup and of cabbage
She points to a puffy, red vinyl, heart-shaped balloon
Her eyes are red-rimmed
We speak in gestures
The balloon reads,
"Our prayers are with you"
I wonder if she knows someone
A victim of the accident
I can't think of these things right now
I know I had to be doing something more
Rather than merely transacting a sanitize flour
Arranging these roses, lilies, lilacs, and daffodils
Sawgrass and mugwort
So many flowers
♪
Only later, would I walk to weary my body
Part of it's nighttime contortions
Borne of strained sleep
On a stranger's sofa
♪
Dressed, shaved, flip-flopped
I walked down the main drag
Pursuing coffee and donuts
For what's a day without a donut?
Light skitters on the sidewalk
My leg feels like an instrument of sunshine
The line for the coffee has wound around the block
We try to be carefree, though the world is turning black
'Cause what's a day without a donut?
What's a day without a
♪
At last, I am no longer
Counting the times she will inhabit a day
I no longer scan the paper for her name
There's a great green drive that I want to play
Under canopied corridors and overcast skies
Speaking of our fathers so self-consciously polite
Grateful to have found each other
And not to have lost each other
I am focused on my coffee