a neighbor today tried to hustle me
had his woman’s groceries and
her tv to sell to me
even her wax flowers and earrings
i have no idea why she keeps him
the city is hard enough
stoic days in the listless pools of blue poverty
a wall of age rising between the morning and hope
i told him that i was not sad
not sad enough to buy her groceries
not sad enough to listen to his habit rap rhetoric
but alive enough and beautiful enough
to stand in the hand of god and rebuke him
from my window on the street each evening
a certain bus always shakes and yawns to a stop
a few bright people fall out into the shadows
they are stars forming in the orange dusk
i see her coming home
her shoulders make small gallops in the muted light
wearing the brown day like incense and liniment
her makeup is gone
at the stoplight
three gaunt brothas gather on one corner
he stands opposite them
he follows her home
stalemated at the intersection
dark traffic hurtles sound
each screaming brake hissing accuses him
every revving motor refuting a lie he told
he never looks at her
is she his sister/mother/cousin/woman?
they are as ambiguous as me
face in the window watching the stars come
later after silences that swell fever
she bursts and wasps torrent red all over the walls
i hear her scream at him
the sentences stack hot against the evening
something is missing
the groceries a child’s bike or a small oven
he leaves slamming the shrill iron gates
his breath blooms on the street like cauliflower
the neighbor women gather to see
i hear their ancient voices
one is very mothering
the others follow in residual kindness
they have all known men who have hurried toward death
they have all limped through weeks with
shards of glass beneath their breasts
they caucus and accuse him of vulgarity
their mourning is my evening concert
their sighs areviolins and cellos
a child is a flute
one woes above them like an oboe
then they are gone
everywhere
night expands across the rooftops
from my window
i can see the last silver of day waning in the trees
high above
the world is the most beautiful intense navy blue
falling in great curtains from space
it is a dream waiting to be wandered through
and i am an open hand spinning in space
car lights come into sight and
boon calm moons like conductor’s fire
i start to sing
then i see her go out into the wide night watching for him
she has decided
her arms folded in her jacket
quick steps to check the corner for him
coming near the alley she hears me
she looks and waves
this is our time here together in long beach
oceans and ships offshore and all these narrow streets
slow weeks opaque with small disappointments
then she has passed
a window goes dark across the alley
then another on the street closes its eye
-come knock at my door, yedidiyah
bring good news and something you may have written
i am looking for someone to laugh with
before this poem makes me blue
