Monday, May 27, 2013

41st & Baltimore: Poem #57

41st & Baltimore

July, 41st and Baltimore,
sere sidewalk bleached by 
stark midday sun, 
humid air like paste on 
my skin, buckled and broken 
sidewalk undulating in 
dizzying, dappled shade. 
And there, near a hedge, 
on pavement that reflected 
the day's heat into 
night's wee hours, moving 
with excruciating purpose, 
a wholly-unexpected 
Stillness, soon to be split 
open, its tenderness invaded by 
cicadas' siren songs, pressed 
against my eyes and ears; 
no children's laughter, no 
stoop-sitting conversations 
in flaccid Philadelphia 
accents set to the music of ice 
chiming in sweated glasses, 
no rumbling thunder, no 
squalling subway-surface line. 
Just the turtle, 
and me. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

SEPTA 56 Line, 1980
Photo: D. Jacksich


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