Fall 2019 / Poetry 2019 / Volume 50

Public Transit Exit Wound By: Rosella Birgy

Todas las lineas abren. All lines open.

Returning, a coup of hands

make moves to undress the orange tree

nails laying tracks in our flesh

and cutting upwards like unexpected shears—

deeper.

Sheathed in metal, the city has plunged into our jugular

whistling through

pulp and syrup

[“Please—]          Exit           [—to the right”]               Wound.

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