An education

by Megan Chiusaroli

I got a voicemail from the hurricane

that said we name the things we fear.

The wind telling us its secrets,

listlessly.

I ran into the dawn and

wrote a letter with both hands,

craving a language that used

to fall into place.

I pinned an elephant to your chest

and waited for the leaves the clocks

to change

and the watch on my wrist

to whisper loudly in the distance. Go go go

Whisky and my mother tell me to wait

a little while longer,

like the man fishing on the East River.

New York says embrace the uncertainty

like a companion,

This twist of sadness is an education,

a single dime received as change

and an abstraction,

a wooden door about to open

a crab creeping by

invitations arriving in the mail

filled with feathers,

foreign beauty and strangers.