Williamsburg Poem by Larissa Shmailo

[bibliothea.livejournal.com]

shaking like the el beneath
the Williamsburg train
I wait for him to come
bridge and tunnel meeting
like the girders of the el
his hard arms open my thighs

in the "hood" they have names for him
the girls say his names:
they call him dos cafes con leche
they say ruega para nosotros
they say he's yucca, white and shining
like the crucifix on your breast
they say he's lucky like a spider
they say he's yucca, white and hard

they watch him
run like a wolf on the rooftops
run like a wolf on the rooftops
every night

rumbling
like the train beneath the sidewalk
and the el above my head encircled by
these girders and his arms he
whispers spray paint and graffiti
pulls me down into the subway
pulls me down and up again
lifts me to the bridge
the girders tattooed
light the open el

his mouth burns the asphalt
graffiti burns my thighs
and I run through the
clotheslines that flap on the roofs
I run through the night after him

the girls give me garlic
the girls all pray for me
and I pray with the words
from the spray painted walls
and the girders that shake on the el
and I pray:

he is my catholic con leche
he is my old native religion
I pray: ruega para nosotros
I pray: ruega para mi
he is my brujo lobo blanco
he is my cafe y arana
and my prayers are as dark
and as deep as your night
as the hole he will fill with
his eyes here in me

laughing
he opens
my Williamsburg thighs

Comments

[22by7.livejournal.com]

Such a mood, here. Lovely poem.

[christophrawr.livejournal.com]

Surprisingly okay.
No, actually VERY okay.

God, I hate Williamsburg. So much so that the very mention of the place bothers my ability to criticize with an open mind. :P

[joseishijin.livejournal.com]

Awesome poem!