The telephone was backlogged.
The train bumped and scratched

against the tracks. At New Haven Station
golden chains brace the ceiling,

arch-pieces pleating like a financier’s
collar. Lost time is paint peeling

from brick, a fly bleeding
in a mirror. Autumn

wants a blanket, wants the wind
to stop smiling. Very pretty

but teeth too sharp to bear.
Windows, wet with sea foam,

glisten. Darling Andromeda wakes in a sweat,
whispers, then wails names: mother, father,

friends, lover—soon the moon
will lower. Look at the blue

clouds gathering: that means land
unwelcomes you, that means the sea

will swallow your hair.

 

 

___________________

Mattias "Matti" Apse (any pronouns) works as a barista in Mohkinstsis, on Treaty 7 territory. They spend their free time engaging in romantic pursuits, organizing against the occupation of Palestine, and rewatching the Sopranos. After graduating from Sarah Lawrence College in 2022, where they edited the campus literary magazine, the SLC Review, they swore off school until further notice. They have been published in Grain and longlisted for the 2023 Rising Poet Prize by Palette Poetry.