Leaves
by Alisa Malinovich
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On the day Olivia and I drive up north to see the leaves
I bring the whole city with me
the traffic is pressed into my center the subway runs
up and down my limbs
and my head
is a platform crowded with people
I can feel their tension the hot breath between people
as I pose for a photograph under a canopy of yellow leaves
We walk towards a clearing a crater pushing up into my head
The city pounds inside of me
an aching in my limbs
where the subway runs
It is dangerous to leave this city like a girl who runs
away from home and finds that the people
she has left behind are etched into her bones carved into her limbs
We have walked all day to arrive at a cliff overlooking a valley of colored leaves
But the city is still inside of me
A garbage truck explodes inside my head
There is so much noise inside my head
I have asked the subway that runs
inside of me
where it is going, and which people
are riding it. But it leaves
and arrives at unexpected hours, sending shock waves through my limbs
I have always had limbs
in need of stretching I have always had a head
that was coming loose I have always been a girl who leaves
and arrives unexpectedly who runs
to and away from people
I have often found shadows casting themselves around me
We drive back to the city its noise still inside me
and by the time a clearing fills my limbs
I am standing on a platform in Grand Central Station, watching people
rush past My head
feels light as the subway runs
down the track into the station comes to a screeching halt before it leaves
I step onto the train and for a minute my head
is a pale blue sky a stream runs through my limbs
and my shoulders are a canopy of yellow leaves
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