awake as a rumor of war

This poem is for yesterday, posted a little late because I went to see Fat Ham last night and got back late enough that I just went straight to bed instead of posting a poem. The play is fucking amazing—mistresscurvy and I saw it at the Public last fall and wanted to see it again on Broadway, and it really just absolutely fucking slays. Go see it if you can!

As some of you know, I am moving to Houston at the end of the year, which means this is probably my last year of posting poetry month poems from New York City (after thirteen! years!). Pending being back in New York during April(s) in the future, which seems reasonably likely. But it's definitely a change. I thought I was going to post a lot more NYC poems this year, actually, but there have only been a few; we'll see how the nostalgia treats me next year. In the meantime, though, a little New York poem for April 28. I'm pretty sure I read this one for the first time on the subway.

Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city
drags itself awake on
subway straps; and
I, an alarm, awake as a
rumor of war,
lie stretching into dawn,
unasked and unheeded.

—Maya Angelou (1928-2014), "Awaking in New York," from Shaker, Why Don't You Sing?, 1983.