Jared Beloff
It’s getting too long.
You arch your back and look,
out the window. I watch
the lift of your ribs,
the tilt of your hips
your arms moving over your head
like a flower unfolding.
What is the angle of desire?
Our bodies collide as shadows
across the on-ramp.
Just past Greenpoint Avenue
an overburdened cemetery
rolls off to the right,
sunken stone upon stone
marred with dates,
naming moments of grief and joy
like splashes of green grass
left to grow between mottled gray stone.
We rise the rounded spine of asphalt
broken lines crest and curve
around queues of wildflowers
floating at the road’s edge
offering their lavender faces
to our centripetal force.
Ahead, the city looks over her shoulder,
feeling our attention shifting;
each building stands,
insistent as wildflowers,
inscrutable as mottled stone,
evoking the stillness of our bodies,
which, at this speed, can only be guessed.
Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. You can find his work in The Westchester Review, littledeathlit, and the forthcoming issues of Contrary Magazine and others. You can find him online at www.jaredbeloff.com. Follow him on twitter @read_instead