Transition Poem 10 @ Nov. 18, 2016

Emily Alexandra Gordon
Bomber

I was tired of trying to fit in.
And I was tired of traveling alone.

I overtipped. I cast my vote.
I was as tolerant as anyone.

Sure, I had things to say,
people to say them to,
but nothing was changing. It got worse
slowly, but one day the ground
was redder than I remembered.

What I can do is burst,
leave shavings of myself
like whittled wood
in the hands of the men who act
without me in mind.

I believe in what comes afterward,
but I keep thinking of the time
just before, when everything I was going to be
will rush forward like the cyclists
in the Tour de France,
standing on their pedals.

 

1-1Emily Alexandra Gordon’s poems have appeared in Painted Bride Quarterly, Indie Soleil, HIV Here and Now, and the Toronto Globe & Mail. She lives in Brooklyn.