I believed in the world for one night

There is a story on
every inch of this neighborhood
My piece was placed amongst
clothes pins and blue collars

A walk down the street
the same walk
the same street
was different on a Friday afternoon

Our fathers looked on this moment
My red skirt flashed
your eye
as stars collided on a sidewalk

I believed in the world for one night

You were the one the stories never wrote
In your voice bled images from newspapers
Serbia was sad in you
You joked in the silence of bullet holes and scars

You felt my immigrant’s wounds with
a long hand across the black and white sea
Backdrops of mortar and steel
washed away - brick by brick

Looking in a mirror oceans parted us
Lamp lights on the Southside faded out for us
I took your hand and floated like Margarita
over the glory of freedom and poverty
this puzzle street

I believed in the world that night . . .

You ran from noon
and the ghost of bullet shells
I stayed and waited
an immigrant's marble daughter

I stop to watch in windows
the reflections of that night
as your fingertips trace the borders
under generations of my flesh

Lamp lights flicker and fade - newspapers tell
of Friday's collision, when stars exploded
and fathers closed their eyes to sleep
Saturday's Southside headlines repeat:

"The Night I First Believed"

Free Williamsburg | 93 Berry Street | Brooklyn, NY 11211
[email protected] | October 2000 | Volume 8

 

 

 

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