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
turtle.
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
Photo: D. Jacksich
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