Canaries

i

Today on the Q train: no lights in our car.
I felt like a miner. Past Prospect Park,

the graffiti bloomed and shone like safety
lamps through windows and onto

prayer books, the Hasids’ canaries.
Do you know if their wives wear wigs

and nude stockings to protect
what’s under there or just

to make us wonder what’s under there
I wonder? I have often thought of enlisting,

but I don’t have blue eyes and I can’t read
right to left. If this happens again, I thought,

if the lights go out in the world, I’ll ask 
someone. I’ll say how do you pray if it’s too dark

to read? I want to know if God knows 
what we’re up against.

ii

I know we aren’t talking anymore, but 
that doesn’t prevent things from happening

to me that I want to tell you about.
Today I rode the elevator.

I didn’t get a raise. At my desk,
the thought of ending it all

gave me the strength to finish
that expense report, but

then I decided to keep living.
My bulletin board is covered in pictures

of the places we never went together:
Taos, Laos, Djibouti, Pennsylvania.

We never went anywhere together.
You always had that girlfriend.

And even before her, there was 
my disability. Which, for the record,

I lied about, but it seemed like a good idea
at the time. Have a nice honeymoon, Jack.

I hope Sophie doesn’t get food poisoning.
I hope you live for many many years,

until after I finally get out of here, so you can get 
the call from my lawyer, asking to meet so he can

let you into my apartment. I’m leaving you

my letters. The record of our lives without each other.

(Leigh Stein)