Eli Coyle

I tip a beer back in East Harlem
blurring into winter windows.

Outside these panes of glass
there are souls leaving. 

There are souls down the street.
Souls in the alleyway
and around the corner 

looking for their brother,
father, sister, friend.

I take a mouthful of beer
a gunshot in the distance.

Another sip
a siren down the street.

I skull the pint
and there’s a funeral in black.  

Today it is not mine.
Tomorrow is not the past
when we forget

when we run our fingers
over the scars and remember.

If you look closely
you can see souls collecting
transparent in the frame.

Warm breath fogging
the cold glass windows.

About the Author

I received my MA in English with an emphasis in creative writing from California State University, Chico and lecture in their English Department. My poetry has been published in Caustic Frolic, the Cosumnes River Journal, and The Helix. I am a certified yoga instructor, and my writing is heavily influenced by Eastern philosophy.