Trace by McCaela Prentice

The days now leave me
short of breath. A man is edging along
a guard rail on the Queensboro bridge.
I have only ever seen the bedroom
dimly lit. I have only walked here once.
I drag my finger along the yellow line
for a stranger on the train.
these are places I have been;
that my time has traced.
I get lost on my way home
from the bar in west but know   
the new decade that waits
like lipstick on the mirror;
that in it you wake to find
your hands spotted
over and over again.

____________________________________________________________

McCaela Prentice is a Maine writer now living in NYC. Her poetry has previously been featured in the Ghost City Review, Lammergeier Magazine, and Honey & Lime Literary Magazine. She was also an honorable mention in the 2019 Small Orange Emerging Woman Poet Honor.