WEBVTT

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This poem is called "New Haven."

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It's about the sad Northeastern
train trips from New Haven.

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"We sit, and sleep,
and think side by side.

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But today I cannot
explain myself to you.

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The little girl I was
bouncing on my knee,

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her compact body so warm,
and smooth, and in violet.

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On the train, we watch people
crawl in and out of gray strip

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malls and dead towns.

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How does love possess me?

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How does blood
pulse from my body?

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Every crumb seems thoughtful,
if not downright sad.

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This day is sheer,
and we have no child."

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