Dedicated to My London Friends, A Repost of My Madrid Bombing Poem
My Heart Heals and I Turn Left to Ascend the Staircase. I Am Saved. I am standing on the platform at Atocha Train Station in North Madrid, breathing diesel fumes through my nose. I am twenty-two. The air is dry and sweet, the mountains barely visible in an orange and pink, distant sunset. She steps... Sign in to see full entry.