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.