#emmaclark

The power went out,

And something in my constitution snapped.

I did not feel the rupture

The snap and crack of breaking bone

But more did I come up gasping for air

A sprain on a limb far removed from your lungs

That somehow knocks the wind right out of you.

The water came thick and fast through my eyes

Expressing the heaviness that weighed on my soul

Not broken but strained

Feeling powerless.

Just like the lightbulbs.

The power went out,

I dug out a match,

Buffalo Bill Museum and Grave at Atlas Obscura

Exhibit Floorplan

  William "Buffalo Bill" Cody: A Present Day Photo Hunt

Remember to tag your photos @warehousewildwest

Courtesy of Flickr:

Image from page 64 of "Steel rails; their history, properties, strength and manufacture, with notes on the principles of rolling stock and track design" (1913) by Internet Archive Book Images

In Manhattan you search for pockets of air

Chin tucked, shoulders guarded as you power walk

From subway to subway, searching for a respite

From the crush of bodies that are Midtown crazed.

Underground, sly metallic sculptures hide

Unnoticed by those who move too fast to see

Anything but the skin on the tip of their nose.

When you take a long enough pause to look

Up in the sky,

You notice

The clever brick, an ornate clock tower,

Or the glamor of a time when theatres were palaces

And we were all fit for stepping out on the town

Filled with awe and wonder.

  I like Brooklyn because it lets me breathe.

I wrap myself around the ephemeral, translucent gauze

Of our living room curtains, searching for peace,

Soaking in the mottled daylight rays

That don’t make it into my basement abode.

The living room window lets in the early daylight hours,

Counteracting my odd hours and restless spirit

Filling me with the light and shadow of the natural sun.

  I hide in bathrooms a lot.

I’m consistently surprised by the dinginess and the graffiti,

The claustrophobia of the stalls.

The fluorescents provide a utilitarian counterpoint

To the hustle and bustle and clamor outside

Or the essence of being among the stacks.

I give pause to my weariness,

Shimmying out of my jeans

Folding strips of paper on the toilet seat

More haphazardly than I used to do.

This city is full of beautiful facades but it’s stressful.