By Amy Soricelli
I Was Painting Some Sticks When I Saw You from my Window
Masked bandits on buses, steal air from the end
of this Bronx down by the river.
They sit apart from you and me, carry small maps
in the back of their heads; measure us deep
enough to care.
Once when I knew more than your eyes,
I would stop to pet your dog who dragged
the sound of my voice into your parked car.
Now we just walk blind-folded looking for what
the rest of us say is there.
I can’t feel with my hands; maybe I disappeared.
Do you see me?
When I knew you before this, you wore shorts
and good shoes; everything came your way.
Now the day is just a folded paper swan.
Is it Thursday Already?
I rub these words against each other until
they stop meaning anything.
My fingers worn smooth from the worry of
nothing I can sound-out in your ear.
You could ask me what is this, those lines
against your face.
But I look different than I did a week ago.
You watch me study myself in the mirror, close-up,
my eyes could follow me into another room.
On the floor in a pile, you watch me sort-through
single socks and some note paper.
What are you writing there, you could ask.
Nothing. These are just left over from when
my feet went somewhere, and there was
a little more than just sky.
(published in Silent Auctions 8/2020)
Amy Soricelli has been published in numerous publications and anthologies including Dead Snakes, Corvus Review, Deadbeats, Long Island Quarterly, Voice of Eve, The Muddy River Poetry Review, Vita Brevis, Terse Journal, Remington Review, Literati Magazine, Blind Vigil Review, Red Queen Literary Magazine, and The Westchester Review.
*Sail Me Away (chapbook) Dancing Girl Press, 2019. Nominated by Billy Collins for Aspen Words Emerging Writer’s Fellowship2019 and for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2013. Recipient of the Grace C. Croff Poetry Award, Lehman College, 1975.
Amy: These poems came from the initial shock of quarantine and remote work – seeing the posts on IG about desolate people who were bored and confused….. Is it Thursday? and I was Painting comes from seeing everyone in masks – trying to carry on as though the world isn’t just eyes anymore.