Sunset Philadelphia,
the cavernous wait, this place between,
at once sprawling and cramped –
my train is delayed so
I imagine it frozen between unremarkable woods;
I write backstories for strangers and ache for them;
I pace the perimeter and count tiles needing replaced;
here I am someone, anonymous.
Lovely to ache, again, for New York.
To return is a different love affair altogether
than it was to arrive, all the skyward gazing
and hustling and breaking of skin, I
peruse the thrift shop and discover
all of this was mine once, pull on
a jacket and puzzle – did it
always hug so tightly around
my heart-beaten chest?
I am bathed in the echo of
some automated voice, guiding
me to change trains, the faraway
blaze, North of Baltimore, but
the 7:40 will carry me home, along
with the other weary New Yorkers,
grateful for the contagious hum
and its exhausting, electric melodies,
cause we know the words
so we try out the harmonies
on our own, together.
