Jay Young Gerard
Breathing Lessons
Response
Lisa Nielsen
Dropping Back
Inspiration Piece
That rare expanse of city landscape offered
a concrete welcome mat.
You use the room to stretch your feet and
stare at commuters on their hurried trek.
You look for clues in quickness and frowns, sashaying and smiles.
Where are they hurrying?
Home? To be knocked over by a golden retriever, ignored by a teenager, greeted by a meal left in a stainless steel sink?
A date?
An empty barstool waiting, a hand over yours like a paw, like a claim
You miss that you don’t miss that attention
but fawning conceals disinterest,
So you finally unraveled
the strangling sheets, and stopped
opening doors to debris
My heart has lost its range of motion,
I snuggle in
these moments of transcendence,
where games of musical chairs and tag are obsolete.
I’d once been taxidermied and placed on a shelf, but
today I am an expanse of sidewalk
playing solitaire on a streetside table,
using the second chair as a footrest,
staring through dark shades
observing the rush.
Today the world is my home