I remember city sidewalks
And kissing you with petaled lips
While you thought about
How to save flowers from the frost
My heart an inarticulate organ
Big as the city skyline.
I remember the parking lot –
We climbed down fire escapes
Building’s spines
Smoking cigarettes
And comparing scars
Hoping that the black sea of asphalt
Would consume us all.
I remember doing whiskey shots
To those already dead
To eroded tombstones, and faceless ghosts of friends
And October mornings after,
Wrinkled sheets and your silhouette
Your arms wrapped around me; your bouquet of bones.
Erica Hom is a Pittsburgh based poet, who is inspired by brightly-lit cityscapes and urban decay. A daughter of immigrants, she is passionate about storytelling, immigration justice, racial equity and the intersections between them.