Mind to Hand to Pen to Page

As I sit on the B train
I remind myself that
I have a perfect body

because my knees grip
the edge of the seat

where my body bends
to the folds of the chair

because my lips cling
to the straw punched into
the middle of my iced coffee

because my teeth seize
that plastic straw, leaving
white dents from the momentary

brain freeze

because my brain lets me hum
the words from Regina Spektor’s
lips to my
ears through my

lips to the train’s hum
and roar

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