Saudade

By Anna McDonald

The city wraps itself
up in me.
Covers its ears in me.
Tried me on in one
of those public nudity
dressing rooms they used
to have at Loehmann’s.
How I loved in my loneliness
the comfort of those pantings
& unpantings. How that dressing
room is no longer there, as many
people from that dressing room
just got up and walked out,
onto the next myth, died or bore
a child or didn’t. Perhaps it was
an accident. Haven’t thought of me
since. Should I stop hating
my own nostalgia, which
places me here on the corner
of my sadness so many
years later on a mild evening,
looking up into lit windows,
dinnertimes not my own?
The city wraps me up
in itself, does with me as air does to
particulate matter.
Lets me float around invisible
killing people I don’t know.

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