how to cry in public places

one

no one ever uses this room
its black and white tile a piano of quiet
a sink that groans, so crying isn’t strange

gathering data on the ledge
made for barbs in the elevator bank:
how scorn from the c-level burns

silos and pushback, lost in the halls
these fortified walls are not my fault
but I’m here now – and somehow I know
I’ll pay for this betrayal

two

false light in the depths, people
packed on people
shifting fires on the tracks and everything
falls apart completely

I make it to the A, a shoeless mess
quietly crying to the wall while the conductor
watches from his hole

otherwise alone among thousands
wrestling with a last ounce of shame
and losing all the way home

three

tied up and turned out
you are every dog passed over

not this time
but the news is bad, a worsening sky
that explodes in snow by 6:00

the uneasy trickster, a corner
of the sports building on 47th Street
holds me while I cry over your life
an old penny in my hand

four

I take your call
in the empty corral office
where boxes and mismatched chairs gather
in a silence I cannot deserve

caught and scolded
why did I think this would work:

a woman of quiet control
losing it all to a city
that gulps at her every defeat
like a starving dog
tied up and dying
and waiting at home
just for her

let's start here...

Here is a cold beautiful Monday, a day off from the grind of the office, a day at home with my husband and dogs. I've been using MySpace to blog, but it was time for something a little more serious. After all, I'm supposed to be a writer. And writers write. For others. So. Let's do this thing.