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.