A Homeless Woman Speaks

McPherson Square, Washington, DC

When the lump in my chest
awakens with falcon force,
I begin the morning with
candlelight. I’m scared of rain
and switchblades.

Breath by breath I escape from this
plot and begin to heave through
another day. Footsteps, groveling,
brushing aside. Who knew that bones
could bend? If I move to Tombstone,
Arizona, is it acceptable to talk
with the dead?

Oh holy fear of squad cars and guns.
Oh holy need for water and rest.
Oh holy fight in Washington, DC,
let alchemical justice flow
beyond Rock Creek.

I lay my sheet in the park and sleep
with angels of the highest drunk.
Someone is fondled at 4 a.m.
Another is stabbed at 4:45.
Dawn is worse than the night.
I surrender to sleep in its lightest
form. I hear myself beg for coffee
in my dreams. Tell the Homeless God
it’s the only prayer I know.

Originally published in Más Tequila Review