Karina Claudia/@khovsky

A Poem, from Brooklyn

I thought

if I
grew my hair
long enough

I could protect

Where

the buildings
from the F
at Church
stand
like tenets
to my being

Like tenets to my being

I column

I crumble

I sway a mighty braid

traipse-tip-toe-collapse

A trip

A Repunzel-like-gait
towards
your island, Coney

Commingled with the city
I swarm

Intersect

s a t u r a t e d

at my roots
I blow up the Brooklyn Bridge of my mind
with an X

(of fists) locked in an I-love-you

Marching forward, instead
I get

Grey

Instead I grow

the tip of a pigeon’s tail
at the back of my neck

Dirty.White.

Telling me
I’m aging

Telling me

I’m
getting the hang of this
maybe

Telling me to get in line
with what I can tend to

Telling me to till more than I tolerate

And there, in me, a tree grows —

dissipates