Alexandra Hart
Manhattan
I sleep in the bed
by the radiator
by the window in the room
on the east side, my slice of
space wedged nearly in the steeple of
the episcopal church so I wake up to bells and
the sun in my crepe paper flowers
that catch the light in folds
of pink and orange. By morning
I am sweating. Broadway and I
are bedfellows; it runs from my toes to
my head. I fall asleep with my cheek to
its breast on the chest of heaving
sirens, of street cleaners and
car alarms. I wake to Church bells and
taxis caught in my sheets and
this city is like sex, an energy caught in
bed, an intenseness that
sleeps until church bells, awakens,
stretches its limbs inside my
skin on skin, a friction, the
heat from car exhausts.
Alexandra Hart is originally from Connecticut but is currently living in New York City. She
used to be on the CT Youth Slam Team, and now is an undergraduate student at NYU where
she is majoring in Jounalism and Gender and Sexuality Studies.
Home
Issue Two
Manhattan
I sleep in the bed
by the radiator
by the window in the room
on the east side, my slice of
space wedged nearly in the steeple of
the episcopal church so I wake up to bells and
the sun in my crepe paper flowers
that catch the light in folds
of pink and orange. By morning
I am sweating. Broadway and I
are bedfellows; it runs from my toes to
my head. I fall asleep with my cheek to
its breast on the chest of heaving
sirens, of street cleaners and
car alarms. I wake to Church bells and
taxis caught in my sheets and
this city is like sex, an energy caught in
bed, an intenseness that
sleeps until church bells, awakens,
stretches its limbs inside my
skin on skin, a friction, the
heat from car exhausts.
Alexandra Hart is originally from Connecticut but is currently living in New York City. She
used to be on the CT Youth Slam Team, and now is an undergraduate student at NYU where
she is majoring in Jounalism and Gender and Sexuality Studies.
Home
Issue Two
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Chickenpinata
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| a journal of poetry issue two |