Down the Hudson

There are a thousand ways
To stop a train. I want to unpack
There are a lot of things I want.

This morning fog clung to the darkest parts
Of the Catskills while I dressed
In the same clothes I wore yesterday.

I am listening with a dull face,
Every muscle taut with nonchalance.
I was not made for slow walks;

The stars could not out glow
The yellow moon glare. In the kitchen,
Everything is stainless. The pond is fed

From somewhere. Stretched out on the dock
Still cold with dew, I count the ways I was wrong. This mountain

Unfolds forgetting. My blue dress with
Silver buttons all snapped up is rolled
Into a pillow. I feel metal at the base

Of my neck. Hudson, Rhinecliff, Poughkeepsie, the trees are wrapped in
Vines and pregnant. This is the day that

The river runs through. Coffee with
Cream, windows open. I cannot hear
My own voice when the wind comes.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry, Summer, travel and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Down the Hudson

  1. n says:

    You, so long away, & suddenly July

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