every poem is you, brooklyn

i swear this platform shakes

as wind blows over Mcdonald Ave

we wait, spitting into space,

level with tops of brick apartments, warehouses 

selling wooden doors and tombstones. 

here someone has written

Hiroshima ain't nothing compared

--never finished or maybe obscured 

by illegible tags, making this line's neat print

all the more glaring.

i reentered this city on my own,

a shrinking circle of daily listening,

expanding net of unknowns--

a best friend crying beside me

on a bench on a street near childhood.

we are grown and i don't know if she wants

to be held (i always do.)

the bodies around us keep moving

talking of how it smells like rain,

getting in and out of cars, carrying groceries,

talking loudly, adjusting their clothes.

i swear i have been here most my life--

eaten various flat breads, chickpeas and lentils.

in some shops, barbers, sign-painters, cooks, musicians

know my name and want me to join them for tea--

this is no secret city, not the first time

i've seen you- sang along

you look like a city but you feel like religion to me

oh!  i want to be able to leave you

and there is nowhere else to go.

i want you inside me,

whispering through my pores as i sleep.

i walked home talking loudly, holding my pants in place,

past curses and kisses, and it never did rain.

woke in a pool of sweat, an unseasonably hot morning.

today, the subway like so many times,

waiting above ground, swooshing around phlegm

in our cheeks before letting it go,

launching it into quivering space.

today like so many times

i want to know just what you did to me,

but i cannot see everything.