Lit Issue 2018 | Poetry

kid i don’t know

i know where you died.
it is my favorite park.
on the new year i sat there.
in a tree.
right above
where you may have played.
               and waited for the year to change.
now i am older.
and i sit in metal boxes.
and wait to get somewhere else.
if you sat across from me.
we would play a game of pretend.
our heads would sway together as the train jerks.
and we would pretend we are somewhere else.
not underground, sitting next to someone
we don’t like the smell of.
we would pretend we are swimming in a river.
the emergency break would swing over your head.
would the woman next to you tense.
              we wouldn’t notice.
we would we look past each other.
into the windows behind our heads.
and no one would know.
that we are playing a great game.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Asha Futterman is a poet from Hyde Park. She currently a student at Barnard College in New York studying English with a concentration in Race and Ethnic studies.

The Weekly is a volunteer-run nonprofit written for and about the South Side of Chicago. Our work is made possible through donations from our readers. If you enjoyed this article, please consider making a one-time or recurring donation. Donate today.

Leave a reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *