I’m not sure what Tennessee Williams’ play A Streetcar Named Desire has to do with the Brooklyn Bridge.
I am sure what they both make me feel.
Unaccomplished. Anxious. Incomplete.
Distracted. Discouraged. Defeated.
Inspired. Unbridled. Unfettered.
I wish I could live among both of them.
Two big dreams, suspended, girded.
Riveted dreams. Lantern-covered light.
I can touch both.
Run them through my fingers, curl their sounds around my tongue.
Rage and cry and run and applaud.
Swear never again, and come back every time.
A fading beauty with secrets under lace and steel. But I see it, dark and light, under eyes and lost on a pillow.
I can curl around both.
Tracks and heat,
a shot never did a Coke any harm.
A date from the start.
On the tracks,
In front of me,
On the way,