The Escape
I see a woman sitting on the steps
Of the New York City Public Library, her borrowed
Book, Anna Karenina open in her lap, “each unhappy
family is unhappy in its own way.” She does not strain to see. She keeps
Her head down, tucking her hair behind her ear.
The smell from the street vendors penetrates
The air -- smoky, gray, salty. A red and yellow fire truck pushes
Through the city traffic. No one notices.
If our eyes meet, our gaze pulls us, one into the other,
Frightened, frustrated, she will shatter my magnifier
And tear the pages from the large print street map.
Eyes foggy, she takes my things, crosses the street.
When she looks up at the schedule board at Grand Central, she
Sees only a wordless wall, numbers and names
Blurring together. Her diseased eyes will shed
Tears, one for each destination
Unseen. She will not know which way to
Turn. Her fear of what’s to come paralyzes her,
