a poem about metro stations that ends with my mother’s last haircut

by Emily Ling

i imagine a stairway
carrying a bowl of people
toward heaven. a metro
station at the bottom, carting
you across the marble slabs.
wind turbines blowing everything
towards the earth’s core.
a shallow wind. i’m sorry.
i miss you. but you can’t
miss the train.
maybe you get confused.
knock a girl you once met
down. maybe she
burns up into ash, or
lands on the tracks
feeling as i did
when someone who wasn’t
my mother came home.
the hair on her head had
floated off to somewhere else.
arms hot and sweating
moved forward

it’s me, it’s me

Author Biography: Emily Ling is a Junior at South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. She enjoys riding her ugly yellow bike and watching Chopped with her dog.