POETRY

By Shannon Marzella

Brook­lyn, you were a hot mouth of wolf-
hunger. Those nights, you ate me whole,

ribs & every­thing, then spit out
an acidic sunrise–orange

blis­ters split and cack­ling, or maybe
it was you pouring laugh­ter, filthy

and bright. I forgot everything
but the cross painted on your right arm,

your face­less cathe­dral. I blessed
it as sirens stormed daylight

through open windows. I forgot
the black coffin of the 7 train and

the sweet, dank stench of subway breath
impart­ed ten­der­ly from its glowing innards.

Those nights, I wanted and I
wanted and I wanted

your city heat and its grave undoing. Tell me
you wanted me, too– pink and lone­some, melted

into your clois­tered grip. Tell me you wanted
my body strewn across your floor, soft and broken.

Photo by Nathan Hurst.

This story orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 19. Support local book­sellers and inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ers by order­ing a print copy of the mag­a­zine.