sometimes I spend hours
as someone new
I escape
the victory of being
I make an offering to the Hudson
two pale hands around a bagel
aimed at the sky
*
today I am feeling
like the weather
is just for me
the sunlight and ancient flowers
blooming along rented fences
I trace my rage in the air
with a finger and I understand
this is what its like
to have a say
*
sometimes I cannot agree
that I am a woman
anymore than they are people
just trying to get by
on the highs of caffeine
I look at my hands
I look into the brim of my shirt
for assurance of the mystery
for the confidence
of a witness to the self
*
maybe the root of it
interests me the most:
a face looking back at a face
*
these days I am content
with my rage
…but the loss of ambush
you just can’t surprise
anyone anymore
*
you are looking
at an attempted victor
one who wins unintentionally
but my ancestors get it
apologize through me
their ancient sun
still ablaze
