White Plains

by Marley Reedy

Walking with my father

Past midnight

Past exposed rock

On the narrow sidewalk

Meditate on what is

Deeper than marrow

This time at midnight

What did you make that doesnt?

Exist to feel smooth or rough

or skinned.

Skim the stars.

Play something paler too.

This time its midnight

Cornered by a lit screen.

Night like a half-closed lid

On the palest eye. Something

Colder plays. Someone else is blue

Tomorrow we will go for lunch.

Tonight looking for morning sense.

A city line of book spine.

To: Midnight bird.

Something apter calls.

Marley Reedy is a biracial woman from Brooklyn. Her writing is a blend of internal, external, and abstract observation. She enjoys listening to old love songs and unearthing the poetry of everyday life.

Illustration by Mairen O’Neill