Anna Ursyn, City Neighborhood
Station to Station
James Miller
We approach the mesa’s
winding steps.
I want to stop
at each bronze station,
sing lyrics
from 80s Bowie.
Let’s prance.
Let’s fragrance.
Let’s gallivant.
We pass
Simon of Styrene,
the woman of Jerusalem.
Halfway
to the dusked chapel,
Jesus warns
to watch our bladders.
Slow climb
to the sanctuary,
take your time,
study each one
of me.
Will the phone ring?
My mother
has fallen,
for the last time.
She’d soak
the sidewalk,
forcing dust
and acorn shells
to the driveway.
Then swipe
my legs
and jerk
the nozzle up,
strike me
full in the chest.
James Miller
We approach the mesa’s
winding steps.
I want to stop
at each bronze station,
sing lyrics
from 80s Bowie.
Let’s prance.
Let’s fragrance.
Let’s gallivant.
We pass
Simon of Styrene,
the woman of Jerusalem.
Halfway
to the dusked chapel,
Jesus warns
to watch our bladders.
Slow climb
to the sanctuary,
take your time,
study each one
of me.
Will the phone ring?
My mother
has fallen,
for the last time.
She’d soak
the sidewalk,
forcing dust
and acorn shells
to the driveway.
Then swipe
my legs
and jerk
the nozzle up,
strike me
full in the chest.