Will you droop your spine to hear me speak, like I am a new sun? 

by Maya Lowy 

I am untangling my feather boas, 
orange like persimmons, wrapped around 

my head. And I am stumbling 
because I’ll notice anything but potholes in side-

walks. I can’t point north ‘til your shadow 
shows how the light goes. I can always point 

at things I like that flap through avenues: 
a shopping list, a chicken bone, 

a couch, a jack of clubs. At red-palm cross-
walks my palms go red too, and 

you dig in your pockets. Look: 
I’ve got a blue lighter that sparks.

Maya Lowy is a linguistics major, class of 2013. Her recent poetic inspira- tions include Lorca and Apollinaire. She is currently president of NYU’s experimental writing club the Headless Society, which you should all totally join. Also, she’s really good at handshakes.