Thursday
by Makensi Ceriani
Marble eyes chase down stairs,
as international students go by two by two.
My view of that doorway stays with me and
the mannequins who watched me pass whisper behind fall’s greatest fashions.
I sit in class pretending to not make friends and
worry about that door whose name I have not known.
Bone imagery falls from the professor’s mouth and
it drowns those who thought it best to sit in the front row.
He laughs, and it sounds like thunder tumbling over rocks
that are as ancient as the gods my roommate calls on for help,
never salvation.
The wind blows my hair, showing the bruises disappearing from my mind,
and how I wish I didn’t mind the cement steps
leading me to a future full of things other people know.
Marbled eyes chase me down the stairs,
as lovers walk by two by two.
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