Let’s Say I Take the Metro, Heading

east to Franconia-Springfield. My mistake. I spend my Saturday

shuttled back and forth across the Potomac. Still, the sunshine

reflecting off the water, the ducks floating in the wake, the lines of traffic

I trace, omniscient, like I’m watching from the clouds. Let’s say

I leave the station right at noon. Fourteen minutes pass and a voice blurs

over the intercom in a language spoken only by angels. Or maybe by everyone

but me. Thinking back, it said: get off the train. My mistake. I spend my Saturday

stuck in the tunnels beneath Mt. Vernon Square. It’s fine, really. I have nowhere else

to be. Alone in the railcar, I read the words of a dead philosopher from the square light

of my phone: If you are aware of your fallenness, in this awareness you are,

nevertheless, relating to God. Like God, I make mistakes and don’t regret them.

The train begins to move again, screeching over electric rail, this time headed west.

Logan Elizabeth Craig (she/they) is a therapist and poet currently residing in Chattanooga, TN. Her poems have been published in several print and online publications, including miniskirt mag, the lickety~split, and Anodyne Magazine, and is forthcoming in elsewhere. She hopes incessantly for an arms embargo and ceasefire in Gaza.