Living on a Ledge
by Claire Scott
quoted line is from “The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens
Live from a ledge overlooking Central Park
a snazzy address & rent-free to boot
my friends are all jealous
actually my one friend Sam is, I think,
but he talks to people who aren’t there
sometimes I wonder if I am, there that is
I can’t see too much of the park
from the twenty-first floor
bits of people scurrying home
for supper delivered
to their snug apartments
perhaps mu-shu pork
or pepperoni pizza
my stomach lurches
my jacket is soaked
it’s fuckin’ cold tonight
wind whipping off the lake
swirling snow
no moon
only pigeons & me on the ledge
we talk about Socrates who was French
or maybe Portuguese
the pigeons say he played for the NFL
I wrap myself tighter in my comforter
that stinks of sweat, shiver myself to night-
mares where cats leer, bloody rats drip
& prophets peel skin from pale fingers
a flying saucer with neon stripes
hovers above my ledge
the pigeons are reciting poetry
one must have a mind of winter
mother, it is so white
I lean over the ledge
a few faint sirens
for me?
quoted line is from “The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens
Live from a ledge overlooking Central Park
a snazzy address & rent-free to boot
my friends are all jealous
actually my one friend Sam is, I think,
but he talks to people who aren’t there
sometimes I wonder if I am, there that is
I can’t see too much of the park
from the twenty-first floor
bits of people scurrying home
for supper delivered
to their snug apartments
perhaps mu-shu pork
or pepperoni pizza
my stomach lurches
my jacket is soaked
it’s fuckin’ cold tonight
wind whipping off the lake
swirling snow
no moon
only pigeons & me on the ledge
we talk about Socrates who was French
or maybe Portuguese
the pigeons say he played for the NFL
I wrap myself tighter in my comforter
that stinks of sweat, shiver myself to night-
mares where cats leer, bloody rats drip
& prophets peel skin from pale fingers
a flying saucer with neon stripes
hovers above my ledge
the pigeons are reciting poetry
one must have a mind of winter
mother, it is so white
I lean over the ledge
a few faint sirens
for me?