Green Street Blues

The morning air is cold; I ride the train
Home to Cambridge from Jamaica Plain
In the same clothes I had on
the night before.
This may not be as simple as we planned;
The body's too wise to understand
This line we draw between what's nothing
and what's more.
I feel your presence tattooed on my skin,
My throat still burning from drinking you in,
And a hole in my heart where you're not
supposed to be.
We thought this was trivial — maybe it's not;
I'm not in love with you, but I forgot
How illusion can create its own reality,
Clothed in our treacherous physiology.

October 1998

Copyright ©1998, 1999 by Erica Schultz Yakovetz. All rights reserved.
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