Literature
A Modern Andromeda
She walks this underpass
embalmed with the graffiti
of the broken, the glass
bottles blue and broke
on cigarette dirt -
where she disinters
glints of rusting rails,
steel line parallels
of a western yesterday
and gold melded dust.
Nonplussed by
this tunnel's twilight eye,
this lying catacomb echo
of a locomotive ghost,
she must get out, escape,
breathe Georgia magnolias,
and leave her solastalgia ache
to a zephyr wind,
to elysian fields.
But it's all she feels,
this millstone of loneliness
chained to the selfsame shame
that came with breaking
her mother's sidewalk spine,
the crab leg line of bone
beneath her very own skin.
So she ta