Untitled (From the Right Pillow)

I drank a cup of water

turned sallow

by the New York City tap

by the Hillview Reservoir

across the way

and I imagined her

twenty years ago

a twelve year old girl

going to sleep

with Esenin underneath her pillow

a letter to a woman from a ruined horse of longing

a lucky star to follow

glasses on the nightstand

large frames of ebony

a dreaming smile

swallowed by a melancholy night

twenty years apart

and then another sixty still

I drank a cup of water

and thought to myself

how time and poetry repeat themselves

a locket where all goodbyes are kept

in either memory or blood

resurfaced in quiet auburn eyes

and the acquaintance we have made


(for M.)

–Jack T Tumult

Jack is a damned writer floating through the streets of NYC, and sometimes you can catch him performing poetry throughout different venues in the city like a drunken ghost; a few sweet, a few bombastic lines, and then he disappears into the ether. You can check out his work on his site, a short film he wrote,  and updates about future readings on Facebook

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