reflection
standing at the corner
waiting for the light
to change
a bus turns hard right
in front of me
in the tall windows
passing
one after the other
I see a man
in loose fitting clothes
with disheveled, greying hair
and glasses falling off
his nose
he looks familiar,
a reflection I’ve seen before
but haven’t really looked at
until now
the bus pulls away
I no longer see the man
but I feel him now
more than ever
the light changes
and we cross the street
together
1408
I dreamt
of 1408
again
last night
the old Victorian
on the edge
of town
I lived there
five years
drank there
another five
and now
it lives
in me
the slanted stairs
the iron door
the hardwood floors
declined
the dust and mold
the musky clothes
of dizzy dreamers
dancing
with a ten-foot portrait
of Marilyn Monroe
the back rooms
front rooms
trap doors
and passageways
the condemned
first floor
used for storage
hell
even the avocado trees
out back
however poorly pruned
it all lives
in me
on me
like a scar
well-earned
something
of which
to be
proud
oh 1408!
they’ve killed you
since
knocking you down
building you up
symmetrical
and safe
with a fresh coat
of paint
they fixed you
the way they fix
everything
but now
your spirit
has found
a home
in me
the way
so many
found
a home
in you
they’ll never
find you
fix you
here
only time
I put it in
the first time
by candlelight
Enya serenading
as a steady breeze
blew through
your open windows
do you want me?
you said
yes
then take me
so I took you
the way I thought
you needed to be taken
I had done my research
male, female
plus, minus
cathode, anode
and sparks
hopefully
is it in?
I said
yes
you said
in that way
that told me
I needed more research
for you turned off
much faster
than I had turned on
and I finished
inside you
with the dull
chaffing
of latex
and apologetic telepathy
for it had been
my first time
and possibly
my last
maybe
only time,
said Enya
something new
the first time
I went out with Lindsey
we drank at an underground dive
six or seven glasses
then she took me to a place
along the water
this boat, or ferry, or whatever
converted into a restaurant
when we arrived
an Irish folk band was playing
songs from the Old Country
and people were clapping, crying,
singing aloud
we ordered our drinks
and took them outside
to a table that faced
the moonlit river
and Lindsey sat closer to me
than ever before
a warmth filled my body
this is almost like a date, she said
almost
so what’s your marriage like?
are you guys
open to anything new?
yeah, we’re open,
but she has to make the call,
know what I mean?
she’s so beautiful.
you’d be okay with me…
sure. yeah.
if that’s what she wanted.
she smiled, leaned in
and my heart began its own
bodhran solo
as we sat together
listening to the music
looking out over the water
the two of us
warm and trembling
at the thought
of something new
waiting to be filled
my mind
is an empty wine bottle
there is nothing
good
left inside
or outside
but for the aftertaste
in my brain
a slurred vision
of hips swaying
downstream
I follow your current
though I’m drowning
though I’m dead
my mind
rolls down
the empty alley
cracks against
prohibition brick
I pour
underground
underwater
with flapper phantasms
and a faded jazz juke
with wailing
Seraphim horn
I pool
in the low light
in the dusty vanity
over well liquor
my bottles
my friends
they baptize me with Fire
they sanctify
my loneliness
with romantic ruminations
with the promise of potentiality
I wait for your return
I follow your current
your flow
my mind throbbing
my bottle as empty
as a grave
waiting to be filled
Nathaniel Sverlow is a freelance writer of poetry and prose. He currently resides in the Sacramento area with three cats, one incredibly supportive wife, and his young son. His previous publishing credits include Typehouse Literary Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, The Fiction Pool, Squawk Back, and Bone Parade. He is currently finishing his first poetry compilation, The Blue Flame of My Beating Heart, set to release later this year.
