7:32 New York Odyssey

by Tess Osborne

 

I was sitting on the tile floor sweating

cutting my headshot out of the new Vogue when I get the call

squealing, I sprint out the door to streets packed like sardines

of course you’d come during rush hour

 

I hail the last taxi just as it starts to rain but as it opens a

gray suit slips in like an eel and slams it in my face 

 

I waste a moment to spit on his window and then curse

somersaulting down the subway stairs I stuff myself

into the E train just as the doors close onto

the back of my new jacket 

 

the air condition’s broken so we’re all sweating slugs stealing

each other’s oxygen

stuck between 23rd and 14th due to a signal problem 

tapping our feet in time with the crucial seconds we are losing 

 

the gray lights shut off and we all intake a breath 

a collective prayer 

like when watching a plate rattle on the edge of a table

until the mother-to-be whose swollen belly I’m pressed against

sighs and we collectively relax and the train jerks into motion 

 

I start mouthing all the vows I’ve been writing for weeks so

when you arrive you’ll know how much I care

when the neighboring fetus kicks 

— — .-. — -. against my fluttering heart

 

the doors open and the crowd bursts like a broken dam but

suddenly I’m floundering, unwilling to step out

the mother rolls her eyes, says get out of my way, 

and pushes me into the stream

past the dripping platform through the muted corridor up the

dark stairwell and quick as a slick fish 

I slip straight into the screeching streets so bright I have to

look away

and start squintedly sprinting 

thinking about my headshot my bad luck my dirtied jacket

how I’m drenched in acidic rain when I reach the revolving door 

 

in the elevator I realize I’ve forgotten all my vows

at the door I freeze 

my mind ringing with white noise 

through the wall I hear her sweating mother wail 

a sick voice sings how I am an unglamorous shell

unable to raise such a beautiful creature.

 

But it’s no longer about me, I think

The ghost of the mother’s hands again on my back

and no words can replace a tender embrace.

 

So with salty tears and burning eyes I burst into the room,

brimming with a love as vast and deep as the ocean.

 

Tess Osborne is a senior English major double minoring in French and Environmental Policy. While she is interested in pursuing a career in education or child psychology, in her free time she loves to write poetry and short stories as well as illustrate her own comics.