Asleep On the Blue Line Headed Towards Forest Park

Asleep On the Blue Line

Headed Towards Forest Park

Charlotte Meyers

The roaring hum of the elevated line does nothing to help me awaken from the night before. Neither do the perse curtains that still weave in and out of the spaces between skyscrapers and libraries. Right before the monorail dives into a subway, I see the perse crack, now like a shattered phone screen. Or a tinted windshield that a baseball bat has been taken to. My mouth drops as at once the cracks are filled with melted gold, holding each piece together. And the dark greyish-blue color faded, overcome by the same colors as the windows in the baptist church on Warren. I put my hands down on the window’s sill, peer out a lime green fragment, and see a man staring up at me from the street, hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone. A swelling celestial noise of “ahhs” and “oohs” fills my ears, but in the distance, I can faintly hear what he is yelling. I press my ear to the glass, each syllable becoming more defined. End of the night? It is a lie? “END OF THE LINE! Girl get up!” My eyes snap open, seeing the morning sky, splattered with color, gold, and light.

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Charlotte Meyers
Poet

Charlotte is a debuting writer based in Aurora, Illinois. She is inspired by the works of Marie Howe, Ada Limón, Sharon Olds, Marisa Tirado, and Madeleine L'Engle.

 Photography by Sei