Page 113 of Power Play

That stole the fight out of me.

I stared at the poem before answering. “It’s romantic because he refuses to let anyone reduce what they had after she’s gone. It’s obsessive and probably unhealthy, but love doesn’t have to be tidy to be real.”

Ryan’s eyes sharpened. “That’s your argument.”

“It can be both?”

“Most worthwhile things are.”

He pushed my notebook closer. “Write it down before you ruin it trying to sound smarter.”

“I hate your teaching style.”

“You keep getting As.”

“That is unfortunately compelling evidence.”

We moved through two more poems before Ryan placed Amy Lowell’s “The Taxi” in front of me. I read it once and frowned.

“I don’t like it.”

“You’ve been saying that before every poem you end up liking.”

“I liked Poe immediately.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“So was Poe.”

“Fair argument.”

I read the poem again. “She barely gives us anything.”

“She gives you enough.”

“That sounds like something professors say when they want students to do their jobs.”

Ryan rested his arms on the table. “What happens?”

“She leaves somebody she loves and gets into a taxi.”

“What happens around her?”

I looked again at the lamps, the people, and the movement of the city. Life continued while she was carried farther away from the person she wanted.

“It keeps going.”

Ryan waited.

I hated when he did that because the silence made me keep digging.

“She’s leaving, and everything around her continues like it doesn’t matter.”

“And?”

I stared at the page. “The world becomes cruel because it won’t stop with her. She’s being carried away from someone she wants while everyone else keeps moving. The city doesn’t care that every block makes the distance bigger.”

Ryan’s eyes stayed on me as I continued before I realized why the poem had started hurting.