“I love this song,” I said.
You said that You knew,
    and that the chords made You want to
take the streetcar at night.

I tried to imagine
riding on such
   romantic public transport with You
but: great tragedy!

as soon as my foot touched the grated ground,
the doors of the streetcar closed,
   snapping my memory of You in half.
or quarters, or you might’ve been diced into

a smoothie or Your skin grated on the floor
where I stood. anyway, You disappeared.
   I whispered Your name,
but You didn’t call back.

on a wooden seat sat a woman
who tied a scarf over her hair. two blaring
   trucks of red and white passed, so
she pinched her fingers together and made

the sign of the cross over her heart—
six times. I did the same. I imagined
   putting my feet up on Your lap
and not having to worry about am-

bulances or God, who held a
magnifying glass over the sun,
   burning a glorious hole into
the bone of my skull. I mourned

Your absence. but, the air around
me flowed full, not a gust of breath
   missing from the whirlwind. the
wheels of the trolley creaked dryly,

and I thought of pushing the print-
stained window open to allow
   tear flow to dribble onto
the gears, rusting and halting them

to a stop so that i might pry open
the door and find You. but, the
   air around me flowed full.
across from me, the white-haired

woman’s gaze lingered at my eyes,
on my heart. as if prompted by
   my fantasy, her fingers like lips
pursed into three– making the sign,

forehead, heart, shoulder, shoulder
forehead, heart, shoulder, shoulder
   forehead, heart, shoulder
shoulder, she shuddered.