Mouth opens to sky filled with zodiac; flashbulbs from cameras.
Impatience stands by the information booth, waiting.
Announcements over the PA—blinking train tracks & men in fatigues greet me. Street opens to car horns & midweek, midtown mayhem.
Sitting at Rockefeller center counting tour books & cameras. Greeted by loss & joy. Saint Patrick’s opens its arms wide,
pulling me in. Listening to languages, cameras coming in for solitude & pain. Sitting front row—listening to echoes of souls bouncing off
the stained windows, leaping across marble floors.
Tree-line means I’m at the park—crowds thinning & doormen appear, flagging taxis; ordered cars, where Money is.
across eastside, old Irish bars that survived, stand firmly through temporary cosmopolitans, fusion menus.
my old self, I find solitude over a plate of waffles & intimacy of weddings 3000 miles away from home.
heading towards Lexington—suits having lunch–daily grind. Down into the 6; waiting minutes, while smelling stale air, rats scurry, tucked between time out & college students I go downtown, walking familiar corners; I find indecision in a dressing room. Whistling to Blur—we change.
Wondering what is exactly behind door number two, three. Late Summer heat bring hormones to the surfaces like small flames. On a street
fate stands lost & indecisive, time is only something that catches us at Grand Central–venus’ flytrap. Pondering stroll & watching landmarks pass, seeing myself twenty years earlier; tired feet finds track 22, leaving zodiacs, 20 second crushes, smell of acid air, yellow cabs, 125 street station
announces my departure.
Copyright Cecilie Roaldset from book Greylight.
I’m a writer & poet in my late 40’s who published my first book of poetry called Greylight a few years back. I live by a simple motto Live Laugh Love & show gratitude for each day. I currently live in Norway with my husband & our dog. I am working on a new book, release date is in the future. i am looking for artists with a modern view to represent my new body of work. I can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you for reading my work.