November/December

Winner of the Weekly Writing Prompt: Spirit

NOVEMBER

A trill at the corner

of East 180th

and Morris Park Avenue

under the roaring freeway

on your way home

from ‘uela’s apartment:

you imagine a big

carton of milk

and polyester suits

piling the subway platform

and flowing down

the mezzanine

with subtle grace in moonlight

cold midnight

but that’s not it.

No, no, this is quite different

indeed

it creeps.

it door-knocks:

Knock Knock Knock

Knock Knock Knock

a knock at the door.

Giovanni once told you

it may have been from

under

your            bed

Didn’t believe him

until a vertigo strung up

from the garbage chute

that you saw through the window:

the waterbug.

The window shut with a

!!! SLAM !!!

And you didn’t hear

from me

for the next hour

as the messenger with wings

invited herself in.

DECEMBER

After getting up from

under the sheets

and peeing my pants,

I am looking at the ornaments

glow           glow              glow            glow

  sparkle       sparkle           sparkle

 shine            shine 

  garland

This very pattern

ostinato, downward

{AM}

—————————————————

in

↑

spiral.                        O          →          a

 clockwise

—————————————————

The bachata reverberates

down Southern Blvd., home,

and Christmas is near.

My mom is pissed

because you can hear

the music playing

from the Duane Reade

down the block,

every single horn stab

and vocal inflection

and conga hit

from the highest treble

to the lowest bass.

She will call the NYPD

shortly to shut them down

and return to her crab legs

in white carton on mattress

and the roll on her lotto ticket

with green, brief dust and smoke

shortly.

I can’t touch the gifts

until                                                morning

and it’s so far away.

As I lie in bed,

I think of one particular gift,

one of mine, the biggest present

under the tree.

It is labeled as follows:

To: mi Carlito…

I Love you Very much…

It’s from A‘uela.

Her handwriting

her discordant smiley face

with the shut eyes

in a slant

any kid with half a brain

would know it

I missed her then

more than I usually do

on Christmas nights.

I drift off, slowly to sleep…

…into a deep dream…

…about my train ride home.

the thumping still there

Thump Thump Thump

Thump Thump Thump

I heard the corner’s rumbling

past even the train yard

that we run by

down the line, in the dark night light.

 I'm an autistic high school student who's been living in New York City all my life, and I try my hardest to be a lot of things. Am I great at all of it? Not necessarily. I've been making music for three years, and writing poetry on and off for even longer, and drawing / editing images for even longer yet. I take pride in my experiences and memories in the Bronx, and I love emulating them in all of my art in some way.