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North American Stadiums. Grady Chambers
Читать онлайн.Название North American Stadiums
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781571319937
Автор произведения Grady Chambers
Жанр Зарубежные стихи
Издательство Ingram
down the last drop of the bridge,
and our stomachs jump into our throats, and we coast
back into the country where we were born.
Sunday Morning
The weather turned bad and I got happy.
That’s wrong—I mean the morning sky
was ash blue, birds on the ground. I mean
not happy but good, not good
but fastened, steady, like every train in the city
was running late, but no one minded.
On 12th Street, tarpaulin swelled
and bowed in wind. Rain drove straight
through a woman’s dress. And again
on Hollis, that slowness: damp black
trees, the line of streetlights
paced like breath. I pulled over. Leaves
dripped like rinsed hands.
A girl held her mother
by the shoulders on a porch.
Far Rockaway
Not this one
says the woman on the platform
this one
is going to Lefferts
you want the next one
the one to Far Rockaway
and I nod
though I’ve never been there
though it’s cold
as I picture it
white dunes
Far Rockaway
waves
with grey hair
I remember that movie
where the actor known for comedy
wears a black jacket
is melancholy
in winter skips work
and rides the train past blackbirds
all day
far boroughs
and his own reflection
what awaits him
is a beach in winter
gulls and stone
in one scene
he just stands there
spinning
in another
a stranger with blue hair
peeks her head
above the train seat
they hate each other
sporadically
share a cigarette
and fall in love
I was sixteen and my heart hurt
to watch it
it made me want to be older
and lonesome
handsome
with brown hair
and an empty pier
a winter
where I could be alone
that year I read A Coney Island
of the Mind met Genevieve
mimicked my body
with pillows stuffed beneath my sheets
sneaking out to the lake
beneath a pink sky
she kissed me
silver clasp and vodka
yellow bra
falling off her shoulders
that actor
the last I heard
stopped being funny
grew a beard
voted
fell in love
with a woman
thin as a wing
who OD’d
a quiet suicide
of white pills
for two winters
I read Genevieve
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