homemaker.

Fresh page, I carve
a path in the shape of
a bow, footsteps in
concrete rhythm, this
I do to make home
of a new town, familiarity
with barbers and baristas,
routine a song that regulates,

the way home, a man
stomps toward me, furious,
flailing and spitting, cigarette
with a glowing tip jabbed
toward me, raise my chest,
meet his eyes, a dare, and
he goes, thundering onward,
my god, I marvel, I am
not cut out for violences,

under light’s last minutes,
same day, same sidewalk, I
spot a weary lantern fly, chilly, and
I crush it, stomach lurches as
I feel it die beneath my sole,
was it frightened, I ponder,
remorse a violet stain
pressing into my chest, a
berry crushed into napkin,
did it imagine I would be
the last thing to see it alive,

I am, suddenly, a student
of public transit, flashing numbers,
loose schedules, sidewalk
congregations huddled and
irritable, and I ride
beside a woman with
a severe expression, the
harshness of her eyes melting,
mellow, at her lit-up phone,
humans,

and what are my poems
in Pittsburgh? what hue is
my heart in a new light?
what is constant in the
story, chapter to chapter? I
should know by now, but
squint at my shorthand,
sighing, grinning, and
watch the ink seep into
parchment, another
lovely bruise to review.