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“Eight” by Amber Nigro

I am a crude balloon.
A misshapen montage of this jokecalledlife
I float like a ghost passing through red wine
I float like mist passing over red ice
—insert punchline.

Come to my city and Iʼll show you a time
and let you taste the flesh
of the milkandhoney crime
while we watch the sapdrip from the prophetic minds
of 1000 halfpoets
with sties in their eyes.

But I can see the sun in the mirroredglass shine
the wood water tower and the steam from the street heat
the traffic jam shower and the carts of halal meat

the coalcolored nanny with white money in the pram
the new rich bluebloods with their daddies on the lam
the Babushka screeching with her headphones on
the slow roll of stoners on the Central Park lawn

the voodoo birdman with his featherfilled crown
the brown rainwater from the gutter to the ground
the 3 a.m. ferry filled with Staten Island stain
the flophead magician in the Bronx on the train

the crackhead peeling apple skin with her teeth
the 5 finger discount of the mallrat thief
the blond Brooklyn boys with their skintight jeans
the bold black beauties braiding hair up in Queens

the clearcut edges of Manhattan glass and stone
the slick city style of the uptown drone
the day old vomit and the rookie on the beat

and all my lost hours
passing through my feet.


This has been “Eight” by Amber Nigro, part of our Lost in Time series.

Amber Nigro lives on the border of Brooklyn and Queens, where she makes art stuff with pictures, words, and sounds. She earned her BA in Creative Writing from Hunter College and an MLS from Pratt Institute. She believes that the aesthetic term “Gesamtkunstwerk” can be applied to everyday life.

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