Commute
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I hop off the 5
at Bowling Green and can’t remember if I turned off my stove burner before I left my apartment in Crown Heights I remember rushing to pour water from the whistling kettle waiting 4 minutes for it to steep over coarse grounds I remember my front door slamming but don’t remember turning the deadbolt walking to President Street or swiping my Metrocard I remember giving up my rush hour seat to an older lady in a tan trenchcoat who looked down at me like she didn’t expect me to rise for her I remember watching her realize her own disbelief a moment after it hit her face hearing a mumbled Thank You as she slinked down to her seat I don’t remember Atlantic or Nevins I remember remembering I need to exercise more passing Borough Hall because my old gym is there next to a Shake Shack I remember the crisp, colorful lunch I’d rushed to pack in stainless steel while the kettle came to a boil I knew I’d eat a cheeseburger instead I lose a breath tripping over a loose stair and look up at the park I’m surrounded by chipper tourists in bright Canada Goose parkas lining up to pose in front of the Charging Bull sculpture gripping its bronze balls in their hands while smiling for smartphones I see tourists asking cops to pose for photos see the cops oblige with smiles decide to wait for the impromptu NYPD photoshoot to end before passing in front of the smiler taking photos I wish my patience was a courtesy to out-of-towners or the art of photography but I’ve learned to avoid the gaze of cops assigned to the morning shift A power-walking man in pinstripes carrying a cup of coffee gyrating over its edge cuts through the scene just before the iPhone flash I tag behind him the same way I often trail white people crossing busy intersections against the light |
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Candace Williams is a Brooklyn Poets Fellow and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sixth Finch, Lambda Literary Review, Bennington Review, and Copper Nickel, amongst other places. She earned her MA in Elementary Education at Stanford University and has taken workshops at Cave Canem and Brooklyn Poets. You can find her walking her pit bull down Nostrand Ave, watching too many episodes of Murder, She Wrote before bed, and subtweeting the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy (@teacherc).
Pat Arnao was born in Brooklyn, New York. She has a BA in Painting from San Francisco State University and an MSEd from Hunter College in New York City. She is an artist, advocate, designer, and teacher. As a youngster, she spent time in her father’s foundry with furnaces, fluid metal, and machine part production. These industrial influences have marked her work. Common and naturally found materials come together in her work to create an unexpected dialogue. They describe the tendency of boundaries and memory to deform under the stress of time and the weight of experience.