Mary Shelley’s Corridor
Thirteen, on Lincoln Street, I read by forbidden light - a plastic flashlight breathing weakly beneath the blankets, its beam a narrow tunnel through cotton and heat into someone else’s dark.
Sting-Rays and Summer Nights - 1974
Elmira, 1974 We shouldn’t have been that far from home. That’s what I understand now. But that summer the air was thick and bright, and Mom said, “Just around town,” which in Lincoln Street language meant anywhere the road kept going.
3:13 a.m.
At 3:13 a.m. the night sharpens. Even the dark feels awake. The house holds its breath.
