Northeast Corridor
Jackie Delaney
| poetry
Up and over the bridge on the tracks, Jersey towns are hurling by like a flipbook.
At the baseball game everyone is carrying their buckets of chicken down the steps.
I can pretty much say anything to you, like: I wish I was pregnant with fruit.
What if we had a small kid cherry blossom white house in a commuter town?
I love that I can do that. Peel me back and you might find a seed. Grand slam,
grand opening, baby grand. Onstage the violins all move like one body.
Her silver dress is water. Her feet are bare. The fountain outside is jumping.
One moon is not enough. Two too many. The triptans only flicker. Everything
has been harpooned. New York is a five-day migraine. I’m the calmest I’ve ever been.
Jackie Delaney is a writer and editor. Her work has appeared in Emerge Literary Journal, Hole In The Head Review, and Dream Pop Journal, among others. She lives in Stockholm.