I pray to 141st St,
to the checker players, to
the needles on the subway steps,
to the infused tequila three blocks up,
to the penny collector, to the pinky ring
he flashed in anger, to Jane who wore two skirts,
to the numbered schools, to the 1 train, to the two spoons of
sugar in my coffee man and if it’s three I’ll pour it out on the counter
I pray to the fire hydrant flooding the streets in the summertime heat,
to Lucy at the laundromat who ordered wheat toast every day,
to the cat at the bodega keeping
watch over the front door
and the expired milk,
to the super
on my front
steps
I know
know
know
they aren’t my steps anymore.
but I still sit there when I pass by
I still dream of them
I still balance my
laundry
worries
books
praises
groceries
tears
on my hip
as I stand there
trying to key in.
amen is an end
that won’t suffice for
you.
amen is an end.