You were born on an autumn day—
that held both crisp and soggy things
maple leaves among mushroom rings
apple butter ripe bright decay
hot cereal gone cold and starched
shirts the crunch of sloppy kisses
under awning reminisce this
your lips were cracked sucked and parched
ergo, you know several things
about orange and assonance
ships, harbor, sea and ambience
about mulch and daylight savings
when you first smelled the East River
you released your cogent control
to transmigration of the soul
you believe relive deliver
you see a child yourself you posit
or as a female passing on
away across the street at dawn
you pull receipt from your pocket
to postulate her fears scribbling
plans to find a Brooklyn rooftop
where you pop open your laptop
to settle for the evening
to roll a cone of tobacco
to tuck behind the cigarette-
holder growing out of your head,
denim jacket stained with stucco
rummage through its pockets and find
hardened tissues from wash and dry,
an old matchbook from your last high
and a receipt with some late-night
epiphanies that do not sound
so smart now in your “creative career”
Appear austere with beer not ear,
you laugh stepping down underground
take a train as far as it goes
to watch a woman slip and knit
a story with each hook and stitch
she’s Scandinavian, you pose.
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