Double Floor by Lisa Omarali
Things Start Splitting At The Seams, And Now…
Missed Connections in Manhattan
(i wrote this for you a long time ago)
“best if used by:”
the first time you kissed me
i fell off my kitchen stool perch
(i was drunk.)
you tried to help me up
but fell over too
and puddle next to me on the floor,
near the forgotten pasta
and cat toys lost beneath the fridge.
we were ephemeral,
(if only by association)
but in that moment we
were at the core of the earth
and the world spun all around us.
then, when you told me you loved me
i heard the ice crack in my whiskey
like someone starting a timer.
One Year Ago: Missed Connections in Seattle, WA: Darkness
I often overlook the Manhattan missed connections feed simply because there are so many interesting things happening on the Brooklyn one (kind of like the noisy, younger brother who gets all the attention). But them I stumble upon mesmerizing messages like this one and I think, “Oh! I need to pay more attention to them!” Our poet’s words and Lisa Omarali’s image pair so nicely together – just like whiskey and ice, wouldn’t you say?
