everything is a poem
the baby on the N train who laughs
as her mother tickles her feet
the way the stop-motion animator looks down
at her hands / talks about puppets
the little bit of “residual foam” that floats
on top of a hot cup of espresso
the ring of condensation like a holy circle
of protection beneath my glass
the young Brooklyn barista beaming
as she tells me how smart her sister is
the way my friend rests one slender arm
behind her head / smiles across the space between us
the cat putting his front paws on my leg
so he can rub his head against my freshly shaved chin
the moment when I step out of the subway station
and remember that it’s a sunny day in New York City
the part where Stevie’s voice jumps an octave and the song
goes up a whole step and I can’t feel the ground
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