A poem about when the N train is stopped and R rolls in across the platform (and other stuff)

When you’re stuck at the station
struggling to be patient
with the endlessly-stalling
train which is calling
itself “express,”
is it time to guess
that you’ll cover more ground
with one that’s forward-bound
at any rate?
Or better to wait?



Still (aka Nadia attempts poetry)


When I had to kill the movement

Strangled it with every muscle

Its ghost still haunting me

With little waves in my ribcage

Rogue percussion in my chest

Delinquent thoughts running through my veins

Quivers in my eyeballs


Not dead forever

But for now, and still now

Not still forever

But still now, and now still


For 16 more seconds


Hold still

Hold on still

Hold on to still


Be still my beating–

Clock with a hand on the verge of a tick

Do I still even want what I’m waiting for?




If you’re wondering what has inspired my poetic explorations, one of my ballet teachers asked us all to write a poem. Also, I’m procrastinating on a research paper. This is sort of about a section in a dance I’m in where we run in and then attempt to stand perfectly still for much longer than I would like.┬áBut it’s also just about stillness in general. Stillness is hard. It’s dead. It’s alive. It sucks. Sometimes we really need it.