Two Poems
Sara Marron


 
On The Historic Register
 
The city is unmoved by changing forms:
Magnificent brick row houses with
Heavy black doors on silent streets
Canopied by trees growing out of concrete
Fake candles flicker with funneled electricity
Pairs of sentinels guarding the whitewashed frames
Muted greens and maroons March
One by one on Corcoran Street
Stuffed so close to one another that
Their ribcages bump together
Creaking and moaning and joining
The wail of the ambulances
Screaming towards the broken or bleeding
 
The cavernous bowels of each
Structure suck the air through itself
Surviving on the absence of
 
And because of it.
 

 
Slovak Smelling Salts
 
Felipe gave me smelling salts in Slovenia
Evening hanging over morning
As the sheets clung to the bed frame
We had kicked them there
 
And I inhaled, through my nose
Lacking the words for senses of
Scents so kissing you on the shoulder
Instead and celebrating
 
The instinct of the Alps
Whipping around coursing warm
Bodies full of blood and
Exchanging some warmth with you
 
Shoeless in the frozen foothills
Padding to another hotel room
To rest my head on another’s chest
And lay naked, listening to The Heart of Saturday Night
 
You packed away your sorrows
And returned to Oxford
I to New York and
Felipe disappeared because
I’ll never be able to describe
What he smelled like.

 










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About the Author: Sara Marron is a law student in Washington D.C., relocated from Queens, New York. She is a poet, and works in the legal world because law is the strictest form of meter and rhythm, and she seeks to learn how to dance within those tight limits. Her poetry has been published on multiple platforms, and her first book, The Reasons for the Long T’um, is forthcoming Summer 2018 by Broadstone Media. Sara is also, unsurprisingly and perhaps stereotypically, a black coffee drinker and prefers chess to television. You can read more of her work here.

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