Gabriel Kahane - Icebox lyrics

My grandmother catalogued The contents of the icebox, Sure that there's a meal To be made from what was in there. She offered us an orange For the seven days of aftershocks, Dressed up in our best clothes With the powder in our hair. It sticks in the throat It sticks in the throat I tried to run, but it runs on remote. The blonde girls in midtown board The express for the East Side; I stare for lack of purpose Knowing you are far and gone. I slept through my stop And disembarked to make a joyride; Brighton Beach and Russian baths And Hudson River dawn. It sticks in the throat It sticks in the throat I tried to run, but it runs on remote. My grandmother listens To the men in conversation, Sure that there's a reason To be silent and be still. Table turned and jacket torn In ancient observation, All of us in black against the February chill; I am at the window with my feet up on the sill.