A Quiet Stir
Laura Tavolacci

A pregnant, purple sky waits while

glowing automata dance like fireflies

with the loitering darkness.

A lone star still hangs above the fog,

we hold our breath –

soon sidewalk sleepers will be

expelled from their doorways

and cardboard cushions.

As you lift your modest veil,

we rub sleep from our eyes

and thoughts of rush hour, skyscrapers,

excel spreadsheets saturate our minds.

We lose the virginity of the city's early morning

and buses inevitably bustle by

taking our dreams to concrete

as we rustle up our monthly tuition