The fish danced
On our stomachs
All night long.
Dawn sounds:
Haitian French mixed with scattered English,
Distant doors slamming then opening again,
A loud knock repeating four times I don't answer,
Hallway whispers about what to do...
Silence--
Then the inevitable, murderous
Screaming from somewhere else,
Somewhere between
The walls
And
The
Streets.
Is it a cat crying
Or a woman
Masturbating
Over and over again?
Then, like a forgotten faucet
Finally turned off,
Voice stops.
There's no one to ask because
She
Didn't hear it,
And I know
I'll be afraid
To tell her
Later
As I follow
Her
Through the streets;
She dressed in her white
Sun dress,
Hat
And cell phone,
As the men,
The men,
Always stare.
My pride.
My hate.
And we'll pretend to ignore the gazes.
Talk of Dim Sum
At 10 a.m.
In the July heat.
Either way, I tell myself,
At least this is not all
Machinery,
And this rich man's
White on white
Room,
We have somehow
Borrowed from chance
For the last two days,
Would not be better
If it were anywhere
But here.
So I lie in this bed
Scribbling luxorious
Abstractions
On silk sheets
While trying
To leave the
Meaningless
Cost of concrete
Out of this precision.
I am content
To listen
To this
Sleeping body
Beside me
That breathes
Over and over
Again
Without my want
For once,
Forever.
Have you ever listened to
A sleeping body,
A body that stretches and breaks
Again and again
Just to hold back and contain
For one more night?
This body,
It makes its own sounds,
Language,
Like it's saying a name
That is no longer
An accusation.
And then I wonder
Why
I write letters
In the late afternoon
To people I’m
Afraid
To know
And want to,
But not afraid
To admit
I have not ever
Known,
And probably never will.
I turn back to her
And our bodies
Separately
Spin with the fish,
Though her body tries
Its best to sleep fitfully,
But fails
Because of dreams.
Then I get close
To this free falling,
Dreaming material:
Skin, bones, arms, legs…
This mysterious body
I may have once known
As well as my own,
But not too close,
For touch is sometimes
Death,
You
Just have to learn when,
And this can
Only
Be taught
Through much
Trial
And much
Error;
Failure is the ultimate priviledge
In this regard.
Her eyes are covered
From the light
In a dark, cotton scarf
Of her choosing,
Just like they always were
Before.
Covered like a devout
Muslim wife
Who will never
Follow along
In my footsteps
Anymore,
I know this now.
Covered eyes,
So no one can see
The vulnerability
Even
In this
Mourning dawn darkness.
Her body cannot
Stop
Her dreams
Anymore
Then the streets
Can break me of
My stumbling
That observes us,
Our last days.
All of this cuts,
And will continue to,
Long after
We have forgotten
This city,
There is no sense
In denying this
Anymore,
But blood is life
And, yes,
When dried into the
Scabs that will never
Completely fall away,
Sometimes there will be the sound of our separate laughter too.
Just listen
And the clotting
Might even begin.
But remember this:
A body can only
Tell you
Everything and nothing
All at the same time.
New York City – 7/8/06
