By Amy Simone Piller
There is little sound on the train platformless the busker’s foot tapping something he hopes someone will hear.
It is late in the city that neverrecycles right. Sleep stealssomething daily, rejuvenation at a premium.
I want to stay later, longer,have tomorrow come alreadywhen the kids run the halls againclass to class, the rush of routine. [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
I would like to say,“I’m unsurewhat I did to offend you on this glorious morning†with an ugly, sarcastic grin.
But you will sulk and say “But I wasn’t talking,â€and I will say“But you are now,â€and you will say“Butâ€And I will say“I don’t care,â€and it will not be a glorious morninganymore.
Except the problem is I [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
From two blocks downI see Marie’s distinctive frame—the heavy shift from left foot to rightthe square shoulders of a coat too bigand a body too frail.
You never know how lucid or notshe might be, shift stepping towards November’s dementia.
Nobody likes to see an old ladylost and cold.
In the summer, I thought her sharp,sitting outside in [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
In my new apartmentmy father tells mehe tacked the “Hoosier†signto the cabinetafter it fell off.
It is my mothers’ cabinet,their old house files forwardin the rolodex of imagesas he gazes at it.
“I couldn’t get it quite right,â€
“But at least you got it onâ€I say.
I am the sugarat the bottom of their ice coffee
By Amy Simone Piller
In the back car of the F train,I hug the subway pole again.
Lost and full of defenseslisted litanies of whywhat I do cannot be good enough, until you call meon inabilityto accept much movingforward,
forward is nowhere I thinkwhere there are cores of earthbeneath us, trees rising with a sense of wonder.Sense? Senses can’t [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
I sit by my windowopen to the wind hardening nudity,as winter comesto us, confused.
What might happen next little branch, to which I’ve grown so attached?
I wonder if leaves ever wantto hear you say their nameeven as they fall.
By Amy Simone Piller
The honor roll is postedon dinky, pastel colored paperun-centered and haphazardbetween gold glittered stars,glue-stick gunk still showing.Kids chatter excitedlyabout making it.
They are responsible for making meaningI realize at parent teacher conferenceswhen of the mere 37 parents that come,every honor-roll student is represented.
What hope do those kids havewho won’t even feel the pleasureof the half glittered [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
Sitting on the countertop you tell me about accidentally shooting a goose,chaos flocking overhead,a swirling cloud,un-assured dreams.
Dust lifts off the 16-year-old dog, you pat the spacebread nearly baked fills
I hold my ownknees and hope you hear what I haven’t saidwhile wondering what wanting looks like
You say, “To say itsimply.â€
I sit on the countertopand [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
Somewhere between tragic and heartbreakingthere is light
down the second avenue tunnela boy sits organizing papersbeside two mentopless, passed outhalf alive or deadwe rush by.
Above ground two give free newspapers we refuse,though those two smilein the rain.
The avenue smells of garbage, restaurant remnants,late nights begetting early mornings.
A man ties his tie as he [...]
By Amy Simone Piller
I thoughtit was a part of growing up,drinking coffeewithout milk
Turns out,it happenswhen you don’t have milkweek after week—
I know, stop right there,don’t even bother to tell meI know, I know, you just forgot.
And maybe you started to thinkthe corner store, so close, but yetnot worth your timeor energy.
You tell me there is valuein simply sipping [...]