forecast for tomorrow says snow

By Bernard Ferguson

Featured art: Louis Eilshemius (1864-1941)

says my friend who is smiling with her perfect gums again
giddy about the torrent of tiny sins that will line the
sidewalks by morning. it’s true says the forecast
on my phone & just like that my descent begins.

i professed terrific love for this city just hours ago &
told my lover i want to maybe make love with her
inside a bedroom in Brooklyn & maybe nowhere else
ever again & i might have told her, might have, that we
should have kids here & perhaps arrange for their arrivals
to occur inside a subway station, specifically West 4th
—the caked mess of birth on their infant faces amongst
the grit & churn of brown black gunk, of humans in
motion. i happen to like New York once sang Bobby Short
@ the Carlyle & last night the melody & the words fell
from my mouth & into the phone & into my lover’s ear.
i happen to really like New York i said & it’s true. it’s true inside
all previous nights & also true inside this night in particular,
true, the way an ocean is true until the lip of its tide crashes
against the shadows flickering on the shore. do you think
i can stop it?
i say to the woman who is happy about
the snow, the woman who says she likes the snow until
she has gotten a month’s worth & then says fuck this
with her whole body, which is to say she can’t be trusted
with much. i’m giddy with hate when i ask her do you think we
can stop it?
i say i can’t live like this. i say what if we blade each flake
with a sword? i say i don’t want to see it. not inches away from
my face, not inches dolloped in mounds along the asphalt.
i say i hate
what brought me to this city. i hate what made me love like this.
i say i hate the clouds every brick i hate this cold i hate the C line the L i hate you
i hate these cabs i hate the bees i hate the bodega the ferries i hate the white
people the black people the greeks the italians the nooks & crannies
of this silly place i hate the wind & the shit inside it blowing
each speck in motion a premeditated act a crime against my family


Bernard Ferguson (he/him) is a Bahamian poet, essayist, and MFA candidate  at New York University. Ferguson is working on a book about Hurricane Dorian and the climate crisis. He has published in The New Yorker, Narrative, The Southampton Review, and The Paris Review, and he wants you to tell him about your favorite trees.

Originally published in NOR 28

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