By Grand Central Station
I saw her weep.
Drowning in the tears
that soaked her face
and the blood
that stained her skin.
Weighted down by a kiss
and centered
by her unborn babe.
Lost to the sea
and the moonlight
of her lovers pity.
Eyes glazed with memory
of her lover’s love.
Closed eyes remember
cheeks like apples
and burning alive
in his arms.
Now alone,
only the babe,
the unborn babe
and the hotel room,
and the wallpaper,
to keep her company.
The river looks upon her
more gently
than the stranger who glances
from her rounded belly
to her ringless finger.
And so,
by Grand Central Station
she sat down and wept
and could I blame her?
Her love having rotted her
to her core
I could only watch
her drown.
I could only watch
her weep.
I could only sit on the steps
and continue to read.
