cleansing the palette with a little cuteness

it was a South Loop highrise
the kind place with a doorman in red
and televisions on the elevators
the kind of building that hums to itself on quiet nights

this was not a quiet night

it was Halloween
which in and of itself is not a quiet night
and it was Halloween in Chicago
whihich meant the rain was comin down hard

first there was a puppy
a snowhite toy dog that popped its hind legs like a rabbit
it hadn't been outside enough
to get dirty
hadn't been alive enough even

it was still afraid of the revolving door
which its owner was trying to coax it through

she was five three and korean
in her late twenties with canvas and a fur hood
she scooped it up and held it
halfway between
her zipper and chest

waiting for her
at 33 and a third
was a five three korean girl in her thirties
one had short hair the other had long hair
black as I'd been feeling all weekend

they shared an umbrella
and held hands
past sushi and shoes
walking together in the rain

my heart, which was cracked
leaked out
through my shirt
held my jacket to me
my lids felt heavy
as though they were lined with wool
and I slept the way that dogs sleep
in tall grass and carpets
imagining my television was a fireplace


and there was no one left to hurt me