The Place

Dec 21

Written By Willa Colleary

First month,

I had it all stung into me: the piano bar,

The soft and trembling glitter, perpetual fire-eater,

Men standing out in Times Square.

City-worm formed in my brain canal

And there was no stopping it. Couldn’t go

Back to sweet hay, or blue October, or

The tender flame burning low. I

Fell in love with a practical woman, a

Yes ma’am and a no ma’am, good bag

Slung on her shoulder at the train platform.

She knew how to walk fast and laughed

With a grit and gutter-colored burn. Knew the

Simple terrible secret of getting up in the morning

And taking bourbon at night, undressed

In the small unpainted room, in the cold city

With its colorless distant light. One day, wind was bitter

And in passing I looked at her & was out of

Love. But it had all been stung into me, anyhow.

Willa Colleary

Willa Colleary (she/her) is a writer and theater artist from Los Angeles, currently living in Chicago. She is a California Arts Scholar and the recipient of the second annual ENOUGH: Plays to End Gun Violence award. Between her classes Colleary writes and devises original theater, reps in her student government, organizes with the Sunrise Movement, and skulks around breakfast establishments. She uses absurdism and rhythm to write her plays, which are usually about something violent. In her poetry, she likes to write about places.

The Place

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Mangoes