August 23, 2021 - Park Avenue South by Jordan Myers
One night I started weeping and I couldn’t stop weeping so I just kept weeping.
The next morning I could breathe again ––– earl grey tea and the light of dawn,
+ a mourning dove stood on the ledge of the window by my bed and kept singing.
All the trees of Gramercy Park had lost their leaves seven weeks & two days before;
I stood by the window off the kitchen for a while, thinking, then went back to bed.
More sleep & silence. More dreams. Park Avenue South like a parade, again & again.
August 22, 2021 by Elizabeth Lerman
Something in the air feels wild to me. Rain tossing itself against my bedroom window during a thick sort of summer evening, the kind that makes you shiver and sweat at the same time. The wood in my room smells raw and damp like the inside of the small cabins we stacked ourselves into each summer and the green trees of the city are blooming with that sultry scent that comes after a storm, the one that tastes like bare earth meeting sky, the one you might breathe in from the shelter of a front porch as you watch a dreamlike dusk lay itself down on feral fields.
August 20, 2021 by Jordan Myers
Rays of sunlight & impulses would shine
into our windows at dawn: fresh flowers,
two coffees, deep breaths ––– & we’d go
August 19, 2021 by Jordan Myers
At first it feels like a secret that everyone knows then no one tells at all.
Later bits and pieces of the illusion reveal themselves around the town.
People go looking for it late at night, walking the streets beneath the moon.
You can hear traces of it when you listen closely. It’s so silent that it’s loud.
August 16, 2021 - You can hear the late summer breeze cut through the August heat by Jordan Myers
You can hear the late summer breeze cut through the August heat. The air
is eternal, & all of the secrets of the city keep revealing themselves, at dawn.
August 15, 2021 - West 47th Street by Jordan Myers
One flight up in August,
a cigarette is smoked
on a stoop at dusk
August 11, 2021 by Jordan Myers
Along the Hudson Greenway, one half mile away from the Intrepid
a man in all black runs through a fountain. A break from the heat.
August 9, 2021 - Serenity, gunpowder green tea by Jordan Myers
Everything is quiet and still for a moment inside of St. Kilda’s coffee on West Forty-fourth Street. The silence doesn’t last but it’s complete, and alluring. No espresso machine or music from the speakers or chatter from nearby tables. Serenity, gunpowder green tea.
August 8, 2021 - Poetry is the absence of nothing by Jordan Myers
Beauty in poetry starts with movement. There is movement in stillness. Beauty in poetry is stillness. There is stillness in beauty. There is beauty in stillness and there is beauty in poetry and there is poetry in stillness. Poetry and beauty and stillness are one in the same. The same can be said for movement. The same must be said for movement. Movement is another form of stillness in the same way that poetry is another form of beauty. Stillness is always moving in the same way that poetry is always beauty. Beauty is setting aside longing for movement. Stillness is setting aside longing for beauty. Movement rests in between longing and beauty. Stillness holds the space. Poetry is the absence of nothing.
