By Corinne DiOrio
We were disengaged, despite being trapped
in the same one-bedroom apartment.
You blamed Manhattan,
but we can’t blame a city
for being TV droids at dinner
and conversations with no substance.
I stared out the kitchen window
to the world of midtown Manhattan
and I imagined I stood in the architecture,
then a wind tunnel lifted me above the Chrysler building.
You had said the street lights had blinded us,
that it wasn’t clear where our future was headed,
but for me, they shone like stars,
our passionless affinity was finally explicit.
So, I flew next to the moon, eyes wide open,
prayed its force would push me higher,
I could breathe more openly in space,
with no oxygen than I had in our complex,
but gravity pulled me down
and I fell right back to the dining room table.
My daydreams escaped me,
but I still looked at you with indifference.
Before I packed my suitcase,
I stared up into the stars
from your fire-escape
and whispered, I’m free.
Edited by Emily Chance