To the woman throwing blessings left & right

she must be crazy, in my head—unhinged.

& it’s not like we needed them, or begged—hell

her hands into pigeons / flying big—birds, prey

& catastrophe—her fingers flit flirting, a fury

of funk & destruction—& bless you, girl & you

to my cut eyes, hands on my girl’s shoulder, school

run across 181st where papaya & guava are gutted

their meticulous insides splayed display—fleshy wound.