Walking in the City
by Jayne Pupek


Pretend the egg isn't broken, the page isn't torn.
You can walk city blocks and never go home.
Look up. Inside these hazy gray windows,
seek a face and imagine it yours.
Any woman might be your wife.

Didn't the sick fairy recover
when the children believed?

Faith is a gold-toothed comb holding
your scalp in place. All the thoughts
racing through your mind
seek a small opening to escape.

You keep stepping on the cracks.
How much more can your mother take?
Already her spine is twenty times split,
one for each of your mistakes.

Sometimes there is no absolution.
Scrape the onions off the bread and keep going.
You do what comes next, no matter how ordinary.






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