Poetry

Watercolor on a square centimeter – Poem

 

Ladders up, rooftop

to rooftop, a cattle grate

we learned to cross to climb

skyward. We are not

cattle. I’m renting a five hundred

square foot expanse

of sky. These electric zippers–

pull tabs for clean air

muni cars–they always read

like a latticed entry

to a part of the city

kept secret. They’ve said

we can’t build, hills

crowded, crowds an infection.

This, they say is

culture preservation, space.

Come home to your

electric bed in the macbook.

Code your way into

my old home.

Ladders up, I’m off to tightropes

and hammocks.

Up is the only way to go.

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