Brooklyn August was the cool

blue of the L train the
thick wet breath at the
mouth of the subway the
way my legs felt against
each other, bare and so
strange the watery
glimpses of myself I
caught in plexiglass
windows the funny signs
I could not understand
the heat, the young hascids
in mini-vans and long
sleeves, the reggaeton across
the street that one
blue dress I wore so
much the softest skin I've
ever felt the sour
smell of weed and rot the
white kids riding ten speed
bikes that boy who
cooked me artichokes and
sleeping with my windows open.

18th birthday eve 2007

"she doesn't have any hate"
we broke beer bottles, jelly jars,
china plates and wine glasses against some granite
we found along route 25, toasted tequila shots
to our dead mothers, or something? I guess
the symbolism was lost on me, but
I like to drink and break shit

Fall falls faster than phone calls
I forget to return. They slip,
missed, as afternoons burn,
smoldering, into evenings.

(we sift through the ashes for survivors)

I left, swept myself down snowy
subway station steps,took one train
to another, till, home, I find a plastic carton
filled with love letters and ticket stubs under my bed.

(I found a poem in arabic and a pressed black-eyed susan)

January, white-skied, I barely felt it leave.
The city blocks shuttle wind fresh as
a new wound, cut it like granite into
icy streams that trace streets that
frost my backbone

(I lost my favorite green sweater)

Last night, I dreamt I couldn't sleep.
I didn't know that I was just imagining
pitching my body, a small boat, sheets
tangling like gusting sails.
I dreamt I lay awake and
shaking with waves of
panic that I'd never sleep again
and then, I woke up