For various reasons, I spent some time in my husband’s office earlier this year, in March, it was. Here is a poem I wrote about the office and the city environment.

I commuted by subway for several years quite some time ago. But it’s the same today as it ever was, I think, and that’s very comforting to me.


Twenty-one floors above the street.
I feel
the subway train’s businesslike roar
It times out to three cars and gone
Blown out the sidewalk grates
zigzagging up the hard dark buildings
Cutting through the double-paned sealed-shut windows
of every office on the block
even the ones with the blinds shut
and the lights off
Rising above the bus honks
police sirens
trucks straining at the green light to get into first gear
and trash bin clatter
Exclamation points I hear,
all of them hit hard
sudden and used up
But the subway’s sound
is a thick dark line
Drawn in pencil with a heavy hand
over and over again
right underneath my feet
that I can stand on it
Twenty-one floors above the street


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