Arielle Greenberg
You Are Here
New Poems From the USA


Life takes me here, carries me here, to the center
of this red dot on an otherwise hushed map of sherberts.
I melt to it.
I get five hundred miles from a life, want a cookie,
want life to deny me the cookie I cannot deny myself.
I am carried like an infant
to the next sugar-stop, say thank you for asking
which is as polite as I can manage.
In another centrific dot, not polite at all.
In another life, one would fold one’s arms like a black raincoat
and stoicly wait for sleep to arrive
on its right-yawning baggage carousel of the satisfied.