Nicole Tallman

Blue Light

In Québec, I got lost on the blue line.
I spoke French, but couldn’t understand what
they said. When the train moved faster, I
balled small as a bullet. When it stopped,
it was as if I were dead. I carried my ghost
groceries through the blizzard, without my
mittens or my hat. I spent the next two days
defrosting my pear-shaped plum-bruised hands.
There is no light when the blue leaves
your body. Everything turns a swollen blue-red.

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