Andrés Cerpa is the author of Bicycle in a Ransacked City: An Elegy, forthcoming from Alice James Books (January 2019). He was raised in Staten Island, New York, and spent many of his childhood summers living with his grandparents in Puerto Rico.
Mud; the early frescos I left in a lean-to, in the slats & the wine dark
by the shore.
They wait in the distance with the rest of my sleep, as the tugboats pass
through an industrial blur.
I am again watching this place, from a dull green civic, waiting to enter.
Then the radio goes dim. The car door goes mute. The oil-slick night
takes its rag to my jaw.
Where I drew god's answer to Job, a woman, balanced on the tracks
of the Staten Island railroad, fifty years shut down sometime in my youth,
is flooding tonight.
Behind her, an open window, gull white razors & the last child
throwing bread into the light as the birds follow.
In the distance, the tracks continue, rusting over the water while the slats
drift out.
I come to this shore, a frame on the abyss, because it feels like myself: tired
& trying
to move from halogen to a shimmer on the water.
This gets old & I get older, stubborn, but the place becomes a friend.
How could it not when this world is so often the bulletproof box at the deli
revolving,
the moment when the figure behind the glass becomes opaque & it seems
as though
nothing has entered.