Natural Resources.

Liora Mondlak

When the man who snapped "Don't tell me

to stay calm!" got off the subway train,

we glanced at his empty seat. No one rushed

to take it, his energy field lingered.

It was November and still warm enough

for the psychic on Seventeenth Street to read

palms outside her store, where she'd set up

a table, two chairs, and a sign: CLAIRVOYANT.

In the building next door, Luis and I once made out

in the narrow elevator all the way to the sixth floor.

He was writing a book about the Yanomami

in Brazil and liked to watch old gangster

and cowboy movies, where the armed

men died, but no one shed a drop of blood. 

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