Voice

"Voice found me"

No. one. under. stands!

In the middle of the night,
tapping softly on my window pane
waking me up to a flood of light from outside,
was it a UFO? An NYU film shoot?
A helicopter spotting a criminal on my fire escape?

Tap. Tap. Tappitty tap-tap.
And there she was
waving at me to come out.
As i approached my window,
she jumped off the fire escape
but her wings suspended her in air.

This had to be a dream :
she was four persons in one--
with four different arms and four faces
of...a...lamb,...a woman,...a lion,...and an eagle.

And out of the sky,
a few Easter bonnets fell on the lamb's forehead
which was tatooed with the letter A.

Then, tiny fireworks fell on the woman's forehead
which was tatooed with the letter B.

Then, a few dried leaves fell on the lion's forehead
which was tatooed with the letter C.

And, then, some snow fell on the eagle's forehead
which was tatooed with the letter D.

Hunh. Did i fall asleep with my nose in the bible?
Was i studying too hard, or not hard enough?

"Fear not," she said, "Here,
in the Lower East Side of Manhattan,
I am the voice of Alphabet City.
I am Avenue A, B, C and D,
from East Houston to 14th Street.
I am the tenements and tenements
and tenements and projects :
each vibrancy : each economy.

I am Loisaida. I am Tompskin Square Park.
I am Latino, African, European, Asian, Arab,
Native American. I am hip-hop, salsa, merengue,
grunge, punk, gypsy, folk, country, jazz, blues,
80's and 90's pop : each live : each pre-recorded.

I am the few mom and pop stores left, the bodegas,
the fried chicken place, the fast food Chinese, the falafel shop,
the global spectrum of ethnic restaurants, the salons,
the pharmacies, the hardware and video stores, the cashiers;

the troubadour cafes; the bohemian galleries; the urban gardens;
the segregated supermarkets for the welfare and for the middle class;
the power plants, the school district, the police district,
the neighborhood clinic and community centers.

I am the Catholic churches; the synagogues; the temples;
the tight spaces rented out to Protestants and theater companies.
I am heterosexual, homosexual, and asexual.

I am the illegal drugs, the burned cds and burned dvds for sell,
the trash on the streets, the rats, the squirrels, the roaches,
the houseflies, the maggots, the human piss stain on the corner.

I am the ceiling fan spinning in a yuppie bar.
I am the fifth grade girls dancing reggae in a school talent show.
I am the teenager walking his pitbull and the pitbull with his jaw dragging a long cardboard box.

I am the graffiti tags inside a Verizon phone booth.
I am the Mohawks jokingly on their way to the Milk Bar.
I am the old, vegan hippie and the Bruce Lee air freshener she bought.

I am Jane Jacobs telling the master builder, 'The expressway dividing the Lower East
and the Lower West will not be televised!'
I am Margarita Lopez leading the march against rent hikes and the lost of Section-8.
I am blind Steve Cannon telling his artist-interns to type up a grant.

I am the eyes of Pedro Pietri that Chico spray-painted on the Nuyorican Poets Caf�.
I am Juan, Miguel, Milagros, Olga, Manuel, before they all died as teenagers
fighting the war in Iraq.

I am "Risen" Victor Vargas showing Grandma his college diploma.
I am the ashes of Miguel Pi�ero consumed by our neighborhood trees and grass surrounding our projects and co-ops.

I am the Vietnam Vet at night living in a sleeping bag against
an outer fence of Tompskin Square Park.
I am the pregnant mouse struggling to crawl inside his sleeping bag.

I am the jungle book, home to the very hopeful and to the very hopeless.
I am your mother. I am your lover.
And you are among those I have chosen to expand my howl."

"But why me?" i had to ask.

"Because Santo Pietri and Santo Pi�ero no longer walk the concrete.
Because older poets are too busy writing about death,
or tracing a talking coconut back to a tree in Morocco.
Because other young poets believe in bling-bling and last season of HBO's "DefPoetry."
Because, in this new millennium, someone had the audacity to publish
an anthology of Lower East Side poets that mainly featured white penis over age 50.

Because you, my love, social worker born from my labor,
will say what I want you to say, one season at a time,
as I will with my other children.
I will show you how to sing as an outlaw,
eat as an evolutionary, and kiss as a prophet.
There will be no major poem.
Your words will be as theirs, with gaps left for each other to fill."

"But who--?"

"�Silencio! Don't get me started. Cuidate, mi amor. Get some rest. And, in due time, all of the answers will be written."

With that said, she vanished.

i found myself feeling tipsy.
i dropped flat on my bed.
The springs bounced hard. i felt it.
My fan, on medium, spun side to side.
And right away, i passed out.