Irene Han On E. 60th Street

Irene Han ____________________________________________

On E. 60th Street

When I was turned away from / a matinee— “Who goes to the movies / at 4pm on a Tuesday?” –the teller says: / “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not / more special than anyone else.” It’s rush / hour: everyone’s leaving, yellow cabs line / up in a row, standstill traffic. I watch / the day wind down from the second floor / of an obscure building. Wind and rain / alternate in unpredictable succession. / On the inside, the outside world seems / to unfold on a distant screen. The sound / of blazing sirens and desire fires away. / And yet, the edge appears closer. / Dreaming of the end, through clarifying / high windows, I see the beginning.