AT THE STATION II
after Natasha Trethewey

No one had told her the sky would shift, the razor
Open itself upon an even thinner blade. Settling in her mouth,
The taste of oranges. Somewhere there's singing, music, vertigo.
Her eyes are shut; the train gathers speed. Snapshot.
Iteration, interstitial, bagged frantic and motionless. Color
Negative of the scene, lush gray, red green. It's this: turning around and
Going, one soft spot, one hard place.



acrostics