Yvonne Amey
In Memoriam W.C. on the L Line into Downtown Sydney During the COVID-19 Pandemic
Into Circular Quay on the L Line with no particular
stop in mind.
Maybe I’ll ride all day & people watch.
Perhaps I’ll hop off at Sydney Medical Center.
Rush hour, over; my train empty of humans
& their nature.
Maybe it’s the way this train carries me in its palm
of silent smoothness.
I imagine I’m gliding
on crushed velvet.
I’ll call this stillness
a color:
Perhaps, deep verdant for blooming life.
Perhaps, a shade of underpants-white
which is what my uncle wears
to greet me at his hotel door.
Uncle’s legs are thin umbrellas.
His gate slopes 45 degrees.
He has one speed
sleepy, like his lungs;
How they refuse/ to communicate
with the rest of his body.
How he takes hours to choose
a souvenir puzzle for his wife.
How he falls asleep talking.
How we drink too much Australian
Moscato each evening, raise our hotel
mugs in toast:
to Sydney, our first-class flights,
his brother, my father.
How the puzzle box
in half-light
resembles a body.
Yvonne Amey holds an MFA from the University of Central Florida. Her work has appeared in Tin House, The Florida Review, 50 Gs, Vine Leaves Journal, Pacifica Literary Review, and elsewhere.
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