Grand Central

Danielle Chapman

From the Russian blue dome inlaid
with constellations I float up through
the underground eateries’ tile glow

and cab it from Park Avenue
fifteen years since Claudia auctioned
one of Lois’s bronze cows at Cipriani’s.

It’s all still here, ochre and marmoreal,
cathedrals soaring through creosote,
inwardly fired, brooding jewels,

retail-grown calcite and tourmaline,
distilled into apothecaries, boutiques
for every tinct of tea tree oil

I once bought believing
the cure for every ill curatorial.

Danielle Chapman teaches at Yale University. Her poetry has appeared in magazines and journals such as the New Yorker, The Nation, and Harvard Review, among others.
Originally published:
September 1, 2022

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