Mark Zegarelli
Mark Zegarelli

The Thirteenth Day

our heart was locked you slipped in past the guards

brought wooden pews and painted white

those walls so evidencing age

and mold made fresh the air with … bouquets


our skins were plastic then

in ego we could not break free

suspicious eyes an aching in the throat

of years of crying left undone


there were certain years when I lived in the city

when I felt it move alongside me

a second train on parallel tracks

awaiting convergence come or never do


I hadn’t had the courage then to cross

or be still and be crossed

planned elaborate funerals instead

ending only in betrothal with none wed


that’s how the century began

a nun waiting to be smothered mummified

and ended all locks dissolved

freedom itself left undesigned


so we are waiting in this station for a train that did not

some iron tomb we missed

went flying off a bridge we’ve not yet got

(still shell-shocked frozen still unthawed)


a handle on our fortune stroke of fate