Sometimes living in NYC is just a bit too much for me. I wrote this poem during one of those frequent, daydreaming spells where I imagine myself living beside the sea in a simple cottage.
Outside the Lines
by Lauren Taub Cohen
I am surrounded by
an empire
of squares and rectangles
pressed into
flattened steel columns
that jab the sky
until only a narrow
blue slit can been seen
like a bookmark crammed
between the chapters
of my tumultuous life.
I walk in lines,
turn at sharp
right angles,
and brace myself against
the frantic pace
accompanied by the
sound of grinding drills
and caffeinated crowds
abuzz.
I belong beside the sea.
Where the arch of a wave
knows no line,
no boundaries,
no sharp turns.
Where the earth is soft
and the languid landscape
softens and soothes.
