ISSUE: Spring 2014
I loved you, New York.
The way, at first, Tina loved Ike, loved even the winged
Effort of his anger, loved his punch-drunk backhand in flight,
Loved even the Staten Island of him, his absurd cost
Of living, his paper bag-Thunderbird heart in the Bowery;
The way Sid loved Nancy, loved her hard-break Lexington Ave,
Loved her spine wet with August effort and dead eyes dying
In the Chelsea Hotel—I loved you—though it’s easy to see
My love was unrequited as a Queens-bound 7, late
On a Sunday night. I loved you, New York and when I did
I was a coin falling from the hand above water,
I was a lost spoon in the weeds of East Harlem, I was
Blur and bother, Bed-Stuy to Morningside, and I loved you
Even leaving.
