After the Protest as We Return Home
I think I would like to be a scavenger, today.
And scavenge pieces of trees out from paper, today.
If I cut out articles on failed wonders of the earth, today,
Will that be enough to fill a mosaic of a tree?
And we can always hang this mosaic out on the subways, you know?
In the Regal subway beside the Indian Coffee House, you know?
Pasting clippings together with band aids, you know?
And then you can take the 10:47 train home.
(I am building you in my head, I am.
I am smudging the kajal under your eyes, I am.
The November air floats on the curve of your nose, like I am.
You walk away with newspapers trailing your feet.)
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