Time Piece

At eight p.m. the apartment’s a train platform & day goes through it like

an engine.

We’ve been shaking our lingo out, building skyscrapers, that sort of thing.
Our apartment’s the south end of a city full of people that no one visits.

For several days the work of painting the stars on the ceiling,
erasing them at about 7 a.m. & starting over the next night.
A few games we don’t get tired of.

One is the number we put in our mouths.
One is the circle we divide into tic marks and hashes.
We keep the railroad ties under our bed.

Liquor cabinet rattles when the 20:08 pulls in.
In the living room, the ghost of a whole family musses up our Naugahyde.
Big round station clock. Big fat station board. Big old train.

They get up, they get on board.
We’ve started to board up grates, entrances, holes in the ground, sockets,

fireplaces.

People show up like waves & wash the station with their overcoats.

Front page image by Kevin Dooley.

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Eireann Lorsung

About the Author

Éireann Lorsung is the author of Music For Landing Planes By and Her Book (forthcoming 2013), both from Milkweed. Other work appears or is forthcoming in Burnside Review, Colorado Review, DIAGRAM, Women's Studies Quarterly, The Collagist, and Bluestem. She edits 111O (111oh.com) and co-runs MIEL, a micropress (miel-books.com).
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