Gnats

GNATS / Jeff Friedman However I stand leaned toward the muddy green surface of the East River or straight up and down a shaky support beam on the strip of pavement between the girders and railing the gnats swirl at me. Golden like specks of dust in the 6:00 air they are spirits whose voices nearly distinguishable echo in my ears as though in waiting rooms where the doctor never comes a quiet noise under the sound of traffic like that of an old box radio on a table by the window and the red flowered curtain slapping the sill a scene half remembered. While the sun flicks red at the giant globe over Queens and the 7 train slams down the track into Flushing I blink and wave my hand a confused signal for ships not in sight. And those who foot it single file across the Roosevelt Avenue Bridge go by me quickly the way subway cars shoot past a movie poster on the blue walls of the station. 28 · The Missouri Review ...