Anna Weiss

Errands

I glide down Glenwood, chest thumping

because I always walk too fast, pythoning

past pedestrians whose pace makes more

sense. I don’t have a reason to be half

running as the red line rumbles overhead,

and the asphalt trembles like Jerusalem

when the temple veil tore in two. Once my

own curtains caught fire, or maybe it was

merely morning light immolating my velvety

dreams, and now the late afternoon sun

lobotomizes me as I walk to Aldi, Grandpa

preferred cloudy days as well, or maybe

that was only the waning moon, his own

downcast disposition - as I walk to CVS,

Dylan’s harmonica is in my ear canal, and I

wonder how he thought of putting “leopard

skin pillbox hat” in a song, and I wonder

how I got this far down Sheridan without

remembering you.

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