L'Usine, Horta de Ebro (Brick Factory at Tortosa), Pablo Picasso, 1909, oil on canvas
the work should be enough. it’s not.
they should all be enough. they’re not.
this time i have, it should be enough.
this life, it should be enough. it’s not.
i’m your man, walking down the avenue of the americas.
i’m your woman, wistful and quiet down fourth avenue.
stuck on the l train. sitting on 21st.
i think it’s the air conditioning units, dripping all over me,
but it’s raining.
i look for pianos, sitting on windowsills. i look for
music coming from behind barred gardens.
where can i go, except to east 11th street.
where can i run away to, besides the rocky mountains,
besides the west coast.
what else can i do.
i forget to look both ways. it hurts.
i stare at you through the cracks in
the curbs. i get a little sad,
i’m your girl and i’m lucky
enough to walk down this concrete.
hear the trumpets coming out of jazz bars.
lucky enough to realize they’re all just recordings.
what is there to write about, besides that
time that you said something about those air conditioning
units baptizing us, in a way.
these summer days.
it’s cruel. there’s nothing really
to write about.
everyone’s in love with me,
you’re just a really likeable person,
but never the right people,
never liked enough, ha ha ha.
brooklyn, tell me what the puddles give
you when reach way down into them.
tiny birds, skipping along the metal bars.
tiny girls, twirling in tutus in a line.
i take the long way home, by accident.
the buses almost graze my shoes, turning on corners.
basketball courts under churches.
hear the clanging, the honking bounce
off the glass doors and street lights.
try to find where it’s all coming from.
i take the long way home, eleventh street is
almost too far away.
families eating ice cream.
i feel like i’m on fire,
i wish i was.
cardboard boxes make a castle on the street,
all the rodents play house.
taped posters on real trees, flesh and blood.
veins underneath the sidewalks.
where do those roots go?
where do they lead to?
who’s there to stop them?
Alex Siple is a visual artist and writer currently based in NYC. She is a BFA animation major at the School of Visual Arts, class of 2022. She loves summer rain, jukebox musicals, and cute dogs.