Breadcrumb #82


This is America:
I have a hundred dreams of you
Crashing your car

Into stop signs, off the Verrazano—
Each time your car falls out
Of your control

It always takes longer
Than it should—the longing
Comes too late.

Sometimes I wait all night
For that low, deep growl
In my ears,

That animal understanding
As if I knew it was there
All along—what some call

A woman’s intuition—that
Intention to murder someone
Else’s god

Just for fun—when the R
Finally arrives, I shut my
Mouth & take off

My clothes, forgetting what
We were fighting about
& wave the white flag

of my skin, praying someone
else’s god will bestow

• • •