ISSUE 5

Samantha Schnell

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Under the Scaffolding on 96th Street

two old women are walking slowly.
Their black puffer jackets whisper
against one another like sleeping bags
at a slumber party, generating a static
that cuts through the cold drizzle of the day.
Their voices gather strength like lightning.
Suddenly, the women are laughing too hard
to walk. They pause to breathe, while their minds
dance around one another like a pair of playful
suns. The moment echoes in my vision even
after I drop my gaze to the wet concrete.
Somewhere far away, stars are being born
out of indigo clouds streaked with orange.
A black dog trots by, shaking raindrops from his fur.

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