Winter, and I am trying to appreciate the little things: silvery evenings, microwavables, salt-
stained streets. In the metro an Elvis impersonator sings “hound dog” like a stray. People gush
around, oblivious, busy. There is something wrong with anonymity, given, rather than sought.
Everyone moves. He moves. The train squeaks like an altricial bird, stops.
None of this breaks my heart like it used to.
Elena Robidoux (1993) is a writer of prose poetry and creative nonfiction from Boston. Her work has been featured in Wu-Wei Fashion Mag, Potluck Magazine, theEEEL, Little River, Alien Mouth and Jerkpoet, among others. Her chapbook, Tragic Kingdom is forthcoming (Saucepot Publishing 2016).