FULTON ST STATION, 8:30 A.M.

The doors push open
and we pour onto the platform;

a shiny, frenetic sea of leather laptop bags,
expensive shoes, and black coats.

I am one with the torrent,
so small I almost slip through it,

the dimly lit corridor,

the left turn,

the first flight of stairs.

I step over a puddle
of stagnant something. A man,

overdosed on something,
lies face first on the ground,

limbs akimbo, fish out of water.

The sea parts and collapses together again.
We press forward, the crush of us

through the turn styles,

past the information booth,

up the second flight of stairs,
and into the cold, clear day,

almost late for work.

Zoe Antoine-Paul was born on the island of Saint Lucia, but now calls Brooklyn home. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in F(r)iction Magazine, Scapegoat Review, Funicular Magazine, New Note Poetry, Red Ogre Review, West Trade Review, where she volunteers as a reader, and other publications. Zoe writes about the city, the beauty in the mundane, and everyday internal turmoil. She can be found on Instagram @space.junkie13.