one last shag

One Last Shag

This bar in Bedstuy is filled
with locals in a foreign place.
Music and musk, warm
whiskey and wooden beads
on windows—misplaced precisely
as I am, a Sunday night
with disrupted rhythms
to a dizzying degree, tired eyes
pulled wide.
She strums on the
small stage. Her voice so soft
I can barely hear anything
else but phrases and breaths,
empty spaces separating sounds.
I’ve been here before, to this
bar in Bedstuy. I traveled over bridges
to these rooms that cupped the velvet
voices of angels, a black box so illuminating—
warmed by completed chords and

loose holds on wrists.
And they say these bridges connect
things that should fasten around fingers.
But I’m beginning to believe the opposite,
that I’ll run over wires to detach from
worn grass, to be here in this
foreign place, finally familiar.
No longer longing to leave.

Advertisements

About Laura

marketing director at Possible. formerly at Greatist. Still running, finding zen, and searching for the perfect bloody mary.

Posted on December 13, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: