Brooklyn Aubade I have never seen 7th Avenue like this: from your window, all the bricks bleached orange, white curtains gone gold. It’s years past curfew, and I tip-toe still. Whole city’s sleeping, same as you, but for me the mourning begins: Remember when I took you to the uptown Whitney? So you could see how I sit, watching the Hoppers as if they will wake when everyone turns quiet, caught in the night hawk’s stare? A shadow will shrink. A door will give way. Anne Duncan Anne Duncan is a poet from Brooklyn NY currently living in Seattle WA as she pursues her PhD in English from the University of Washington. She holds a BA in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University, and her literary reviews can be found in 32 Poems and Bone Bouquet. She is an amateur visual artist, with a creative and scholarly love for ekphrastic literature.
1 Comment
Katongo Musukuma
7/2/2022 10:50:29 pm
Love your poems. Thanks for sharing..
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November 2024
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