Starlite Boulevard
After we separated, I walked in the mornings
through that new part of the city, its streets named
for precious stones. I could never remember if Jade
came before Ruby, whether Garnet Street
preceded Opal. The winter was like that: turning into the wrong room
in my new apartment, reaching into the trash
for the thrown-away letter,
coming back with broken glass.
In time, though, closing my eyes
as I neared the intersections, trying to recall,
I did: after Jade came Jasper.
After Jasper, Starlite Boulevard.
Early in the morning, stepping onto the northbound train
at the underground station, I shuffled sleepily
through the crowded cars. Strangers’ shoulders
touched my shoulder. The southbound passed
like a parallel life. I read the Gospels through the long dark
tunnels, putting the book down past 2nd Street
where the tracks gradually emerged
into the morning air.
And that was my favorite part: the immediate
daylight. The massive stanchions of the blue bridge
above the wide river.
And the freight trains, their true size
made small by distance, crossing over.
