Williamsburg Poem
shaking like the El beneath the Williamsburg train
I wait for him to come
bridge and tunnel meeting like the girders of the El
his hard arms open my thighs
in the hood they have names for him
the girls say his names:
they call him dos cafes con leche
they say ruega para nosotros
they say he’s yucca, white and shining
like the crucifix on your breast
they say he’s lucky like a spider
they say he’s yucca, white and hard
they watch him
run like a wolf on the rooftops
run like a wolf on the rooftops
every night
rumbling like the train beneath the sidewalk
and the El above my head
encircled by these girders and his arms he
whispers spray paint and graffiti
pulls me down into the subway
pulls me down and up again
lifts me to the bridge the girders tattooed light the open El
his mouth burns the asphalt
graffiti burns my thighs
and I run through the clotheslines that flap on the roofs
I run through the night after him
the girls give me garlic
the girls all pray for me
and I pray with the words from the spray-painted walls
and the girders that shake on the El
and I pray:
he is my catholic con leche
he is my old native religion
I pray: ruega para nosotros
I pray: ruega para mi
he is my brujo lobo blanco
he is my amor y arana
and my prayers are as dark and as deep as his night
as the hole he will fill with his eyes
here in me
laughing
he opens
my Williamsburg thighs.
