Sarah Heady
from The Hudson Lines
particolored lily
pads consume an inlet
below Poughkeepsie, lightning
across the reach
this one: this one right now
is the real one
it’s as if we are night
itself falling
over itself:
which is mind
which is path
to a vista of a distance
escarpment upon escarpment upon
escarpment
the process empties
we slow, see only
the wavering orange snake
of a lamppost’s
work on the blue-black river
“New Hamburg will be next”
my pinky inked
heavily on a single knuckle
I have only one memory of this station
—high school boyfriend,
winter morning, visible breath—
it passes.
my parents are waiting
(still)
to pick me up at the end of the line
but I can’t come back
or perhaps
I can only ever come back
I can only sense distance
the sort that precedes desire
and keeps my body tense
the constraint is
continuity
boundaries hold / home
doesn’t / dissolve
the single neon / OPEN
sign at Ossining
means the same thing it did five years ago
(photos © Sarah Heady)
