The stains on the subway door windows are 

Illuminated by a passing light,

They look like icicles 

But outside it smells like spring.


Somewhere inside you all four seasons live: 

The memories of every good and bad and in between Thing that’s ever happened to anyone,

Stardust floating in your gut and 

Under your fingernails,


Every speck concentrated 

In this one moment 

Bouncing around a metal bullet 

Right under the surface of our skin. 

Lana Scibona is a Brooklyn-based poet, essayist, and pop culture enthusiast. Currently she is investigating what it means to be content and how many berets can she reasonably own before the French get offended. You can find her at lanascibona.com and @lanascibona on Instagram.

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