Three Poems / by Josh Page

blind couple on the C train

I have a fondness for Spring Street,”
said the overweight blind woman.

That wine bar,”
remembered with so much joy I can taste the grapes myself,
watching her smile on the subway bench.

Oh yes,” the man towering over her agrees.

She nods. He nods. 
Their eyes glassy like dolls,
her dog sleeping in its harness
on the train’s vibrations.

I wonder if she knows how
her gold earrings catch the light
like a net.






Real Blood

The first time
I had sex
I was courageous & stupid.
I knew that
the devices inside me
were too fragile
to handle
the earthquake
in my body
that I translated
as love.
I tried to read
the veins across his neck,
knowing it was all
just real blood.
I swore there
was something divine
in the way
his eyes crossed.






Galaxy of Bees

I’d like to think
that after our mound of time together
there is contentment
in your thoughts of me.
Something subtle but constant
like the TV I muted most nights
after you’d pass out on the couch —
an eternal buzzing
like a galaxy of bees
searching for sweetness in this room.






Josh Page is a writer & publicist living in Brooklyn who spends far too much time on Instagram.