Hot Bedroom

Rushing bodies retract
back into
a dreaming phase. 

Leaves and flowers
and words felt over the breast

But too soon. 

The six train shrieks
the empty stations holler
Simon’s voice singing: Where the

New York City winters
aren’t bleeding me. 

Leaves shudder.
Flowers coil. 

Lights off in a hot Bronx bedroom.

–Natalia Vargas-Caba

Natalia is from the Bronx, and finishing her undergraduate at Sarah Lawrence College on Creative Writing, Spanish, and Latin. She may be reached at nvargas@gm.slc.edu

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