the thing about a four-story building is that each floor is owned
by who-knows-how-many families, or collections of people
who serve the same purpose, giving one another something
to come home to; to cover up the sense of what might be missing
among all those stories: a little itch, a promise
never kept because she moved away to another state and now
you can’t tell her that you have every syllable in the back of your throat,
easing out place-names like prayers. They will just be places to her,
street corners with bodegas and “this is nice, it’s bigger than the dorm”
(what can we learn here, where are the teething masses
searching for relief?) “you could put up Japanese partitions and an army cot.”
(which would not be so bad). But four floors up and my eyes are heavy with
what I could be reading, seeing, following, since we track information now
like illusive animals, hunting it down in our red fox-coats, turning its colors
in the autumn to mimic the coat of the wild google beast;
pity it changes its spots.


Megan Crouse is a graduate of Fairleigh Dickinson University and works in journalism. Previous poetry and flash fiction have been published in Redivider and Verandah.

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One Response to One Poem by Megan Crouse

  1. Tanya says:

    I enjoyed your piece.
    I grew up in Chelsea, and my sisters live in Brooklyn. There is no place like the city.
    I can’t wait to read the next one!

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