Even at four in the morning,
the crescent moon makes it so;
hanging low enough to touch. I pretend
not to have heard the trash tip over,
a bottle crash, a creaky gate swing
some way, but I know not which.
The corner vegetable vendor already
setting up; cartons upon cartons
stacked atop with carrots,
potatoes, tomatoes, and leeks.
But who the hell buys cilantro
at this time anyway?
A woman waits for management keys
to unlock the rest of her scanning day;
apron on, ears plugged in
to an unheard song. A grocery
clerk’s work is never done.
And the train still waits for no one,
even at this early morning hour.
I run to catch the closing
door, praying not to spill
my tea, made in the silence
of our kitchen as you slept
one room away; a mis-
understanding leaving me
with questions I do not want
to ask or answer, now seeking
solace alone in the dark corners
of this never-sleeping city.
Yvonne Strumecki is a singer and writer currently living in New York City. She’s sung on three national tours, and received her MFA in poetry from Roosevelt University in Chicago. Her poetry has appeared in Fearless Books’ anthology Touching: Poems of Love, Longing, and Desire, Another Chicago Magazine Issue 50, Vol 2., Specter Magazine and Vagabonds among others.