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what of this [precious] life

First, they placed a white L-shaped sticker on the subway map. To hide the prepared changes.

Then, when the new line opened up, they replaced all the signs.

For the first 6 months, the signs pointed to A. Now they point to B. It happened in a blink of an eye.

Like a memory. A glance. A fleeting dream.

One day, I won’t remember what it looked like when it pointed to A. One day, they won’t even know that A existed.

She stood with a hand-held loudspeaker on the train platform, like a broken record repeating,

“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces. Please watch out.”

Everyday. For a week.

One day, she was gone.

The loudspeaker remained in her place.

It hung by a rope from its new owner – a cement column near the fence. A man’s voice replaced hers,

“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces.”

Please watch out.

I looked at my reflection on the passing train.

My body in the rushing colors and blurring glass windows over the not-so-subtle hum of metal against track.

When the train was gone,

so was I.

 

Jan 2015

home:

what if your home is the grey space between the underpasses and highways,
where the weeds grow and the old tires tire,
where the people pass in buses and cars on their way to attend to the-most-important-business

?

“Oh, I miss it.”
“What do you miss about it?”
“Everything, really…
I don’t know, maybe it’s different when it’s
home.”