I stepped on them daily,
wondering why they sunk
under commuter weight.
Then one night after
candlelight and Fitzgeralds
we swept out of speakeasy dark
and stepped on them together
in dress shoes and black boots,
arms linked through the winter,
and I asked if you knew what they were.
You explained that our footsteps
on each springy triangle
made our bodies powerhouses,
kinetic energy stored in lights
that would illuminate the path
to our kiss in a few moments’ time
when I led you to sit on the cold edge
of the empty fountain’s lips.
After, you shivered as we stood
back up and I pulled your beanie
onto your head to keep you warm.
When I tread the tiles now,
I wonder if our evening
runs through it still, long after
we have walked any path together,
saved in this stretch of sidewalk,
pushing up against me each day
that I push down.
Sarah Fannon is a graduate of George Washington University's Honors English and Creative Writing program and she continues to live in the DC area. Her work is featured or forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, Dark Moon Digest, Diabolical Plots, Divination Hollow Reviews, miniskirt magazine, The NoSleep Podcast, and the LGBTQ+ horror anthology, Black Rainbow. You can find her on Twitter @SarahJFannon and Instagram @ampersarah.