If you look closely, there in the narrows
of Penn Station is a ghost
whittling his tune in the gutter-water.
He fiddles his song in the graffiti,
if you stand long enough to listen,
whistling along wires of yellow construction tape.
In the silence of strangers trapped in separate oblivions,
the ghost pauses and smiles,
daring the city to swallow him whole,
knowing this earth could never stomach him.
— CASSANDRA JORDAN
Cassandra Jordan is a writer currently living in New York City. Her work has recently appeared in According to the Coroner, Crow & Cross Keys, Acropolis Journal, Arlington Literary Journal, Abergavenny Small Press, and elsewhere. She is interested in the histories beneath history and the stories within stories.