with my sister on the 44

our tour guide pointed out the world
strung up small and shivering in the air
when the san francisco curled up at the foot of my bed
we boarded muni with the new cold seats
teenagers stretched out across the aisle
eyes on their phones, sunken in apathy
we unwound along lombard street
fractured moonlight by the bay
the cable moved to the midnight pulse
a moth came through the window seeking light
i crushed it to the floor, not really
thinking of its frail hopeful life
you asked me for the meaning of
the bright box that carried us through the dark
i swallowed a bitter answer about something
that watched over us in our plastic cradle
and also watched me press the life
from the tiny, intrepid wanderer of the night
then you were gone, a skinny silhouette
fleeting beneath the streetlights
i could have followed you, maybe
but you seemed so profoundly disappointed
and i was transfixed by the torn wing
stuck to the bottom of my shoe
i shut my eyes and imagined that i was
somewhere high above, looking down
with my spine pressed stiff against the seat
i rode on to the edge of the sleeping city

Sophie Mazoschek (14)