October, I'm Running

The clunker slides along into a narrow street with cars parked on both sides

to face off with a short yellow school bus.

A child gets out and runs through cold onto a black, burnt-roof porch.

On the phone there is heavy breathing.

One end brags about how they will get arrested soon.

On the other, sirens trail coolly in the background—

the candles of the night melt each other,

forming pools of wax, each around the other

in minor concentric circles

which harden after a few seconds.

And his favorite books would always end with “there are no ends.”

When she cries quietly, curling and uncurling,

a mint-leaf in an unpredictable winter,

he sees it for the first time—

a very fine silk leash stretching back behind her

for years, and for miles--

being yanked—

How can any of this be let go?

A woman whose son was murdered by the police

paints her nails blue

and shrugs at her scarf before

walking in front of the crowd to talk about destiny.

At an unplanned moment though,

she bursts into tears, not really knowing why--

goddamnit she rehearsed this.

This is not the time.

On the balcony above, two airport cashiers reach quietly to hold hands,

dry hands hidden by plastic folding chairs,

until one gets nauseous enough that her mouth fills with bile.

She runs down the stairs onto the marble steps outside the church,

slips, falls, and rolls onto her side before she retches.

The white folks lilt along beside their mantelpieces--

submarines neither rising nor descending--

rocking in their chair’s,

laughing at their blankets,

passing a joint.

In an empty house above the trolleys,

a book case begs to be released.

The hamper is soaked with sweat.

The floors are cashing in their chips.

The papers posted along the walls get terribly drunk

and go to sleep.

In the snow on 52^nd street,

mothers try to reach their children before day-care closes.

It is winter and no one can stay off the street for long.

But who can afford an extra $25 for comfort?

I am trying not to drink 750 ml of bourbon,

because in all this noise,

I see her from far away, walking quietly further.