Andrew Weigl

After Dying Walking

 

Down 59th street, mid-summer, I saw a woman wearing nothing but shoes, socks, and a garbage bag. The way that she walked: after dying walking, her arms and legs moving wildly in every direction, trying desperately to pull away to somewhere else. Dark skin like so many days, and the lines drawn into her face were empty river beds. As she came closer, somehow she saw me through her broken glass, and showed me the empty in her eyes. Then it was her and me there, standing alone on 59th street, though I could feel the sharp eyes of Babylon cringing, burning us to ashes in their minds. I took off my shirt and put it on her after she let me take the garbage bag off. It was all that I could do. I saw her naked and twisted body and knew that it was mine and yours, too. We stood there for a moment until she ran around the corner in search of some light that she remembered. That day I slipped a little more into nothing.

 

God damn you bloodsuckers, you thieves; vile putrid hate cloud covering our city, blanketing our sky. I’m here to take it back. I’m here to take it all back.