somewhere in the city

somewhere in the city

there are sidewalks
cracked with all that has passed
atop them;
cracked with excitement
and hurried steps
and point heel shoes.

but now,
ghosts drift up through the cracks
like frigid drafts
and congregate by rusted
trash cans and stop signs
in a drawn-out glacial rush.

somewhere in the city

you can still make out
smudged nose prints
at the edges of broken windows
of candy shops, and
you can almost hear
light laughs on the broken boulevards-
but it's just the wind
in the barren leaves
(brown and brown and gray)
mocking what was
with the overwhelming certainty
of what is.

somewhere in the city

broken streetlights
refract the glow of the sunset,
vicariously lighting
blank, barren broadway,
where chromatic parades meandered
and car horns raged.

now plastic wrappers
chase leaves and dust
from curb to curb
quietly,
without the unnecessary yells
or stops at the candy shop window.

somewhere in the city

sits a beaten bench
where people waited for a bus
to take them
anywhere but here,
anywhere where they could breathe,
anywhere there was peace.

now
no one in the city could tell you
where to find peace,
or if you can ever find peace-
not one soul in the whole of the hole
that was a city.