Subway Haunts

Subway Haunts

Bethany Chez

No more leaving the city. It’s dark outside.
I mean literally dark, human eyes have limits.
If I have to be lonely, or afraid, or dirty,
or confused, it will be between shrieks
and shaky subway swooshes, under tawny
lab light orange ads trying to sell
sushi spirituality and sex for every single
everything. How does a ghost compete
with that, and the constant not seeing,
not saying anything. Something else haunts here.
Once, a homeless man approached,
claiming to have power but the only thing
in his bag was a pebble he didn’t let me touch.
Not as bad as being told, the rabbits relaxing
in the yard is a sure sign your home is ghost-free.
This murky tube, so still and loud there’s no observing
motionless bodies on benches, lacks the mystery
and wildness of the open abyss outside
the city. And there is nature here,
rats, a dead possum, and a white pigeon’s grunts.

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Bethany Chez
Poet

Bethany is a poet living near Philadelphia. She received her M.S.Ed from the University of Pennsylvania and studied creative writing at Allegheny College. Her work has been published in ONE ART Poetry Journal and she reads slush at West Trade Review. 

Photography by Joshua Rawson