"vanishing Loisaida"
Ahora, i will leave the fire escape,
and, with broad strokes
of spray paint, trace the map
of Loisaida, daughter of Manhatta
and Boriquen, vanishing
in the Lower East Side.
i will spot her braided hair, twist
and cross of boriqua migration;
catch her eyes, sunrise red and yellow
de la bodega;
place my nose on her neck, towering
aroma of A�uela�s cooking;
and know by her kiss,
hydrant opened for children,
that she is alive and well;
that her immune system
has not been given away
to investors.
i want to swallow her fingers, tenements
and projects, ringed with booming
timbales and hip hop chants,
and her athletic legs, filled with
graffiti tags and murals, wrapped
tightly around Delancy to 14th street
while she nods at July fireworks above
the East River, and sits gracefully
on the high nose of Cooper Union.
i want to press into her breasts,
mystical urban gardens, as she
opens and contracts her ribs, vibrant
doors of spanish supermarkets,
and lay my ear on her heart,
hear the march of community pride,
as she smiles wide, our own books
shelved in every library.
i desire her totally naked,
not wearing a dress from Vienna,
nor from the Salvation Army,
and with her lock limbs.
Ay, booty-full mami, let us hold hands,
night before the annual Boricua parade
while driving repeatedly up and
down Avenue D
i will, i promise, marry you,
unless they raise my rent.