Alexandra Duprey

I. BABY POWDER

A distant train bellows into blue velvet night.
It calls over the roar of the freeway, 
    a ceaseless wave 
  splitting apart 
Baltimore city.

II. IT’S BEEN A LONG WINTER BUT THE TULIPS WON’T SAVE US.

Wash your face and shine for God. 

Rain! Oh blessed rain. 
Pollen and dirt 
to stars strewn across 
windshields. 

A man in a wheelchair picks up trash below I-83.

The sun streams 
through his body,
through my body,
through yours. 

The breeze takes my breath 
and drops it at your feet. 

III. A MAN WITH THE BIGGEST GAP TOOTH I’VE EVER SEEN

smiles as he makes his next chess move in the tree’s shade, another man sits alone with a half-finished rubix cube, plays music and fiddles with the colors, leather-clad art kids gather on blankets and whisper, there are takeout boxes and pages fluttering, there is air and pavement and mulch and approximately twenty-three street trees between you and I, driving once I saw a man holding a turtle at the gate of his walkway in West Baltimore, I swear it changed my life, fresh green lambsquarters and chickweed are abundant in neglected curb strips and abandoned planters, my neighbor wears a velvet bomber jacket and walks his chihuahua, I pass him often and don’t know his name, I watched a woman wearing a bandaid on her cheek walk by and there was another woman sleeping in the shade of a bayview window, then there were those barefoot boys standing at the bar wearing capes and flower crowns, but the other day the fattest rat I’ve ever seen touched my foot while Linden trees shouted in yellow bloom, I’ll ask you not to faint at the dance hall but we will sweat through our shirts, he stands with a cane at the crosswalk, he cannot see, his friend sits on a stoop across the street, he rises and helps him cross, fat dumpling sparrows yawn on the iron wrought fence, sparrow dust baths in dried out lawns, sparrows dancing in a pot hole puddle, a leaking hydrant, sparrow waterfall, a blue-eyed friend one street up, four streets down, the breeze carries chit chat chatter, a magnolia springs from a rowhome yard, huge ivory flowers, they go POP POP POP he says, blossoming one great bud at a time, everyone is fully alive at the farmer’s market, the calla lilies glow against her dark brown skin, a child sleeps in a stroller beneath a bouquet of pink flowers, the french baker gives me six Canelés instead of three, my Kurdish friend at the pizzeria gives me four slices instead of two, a pudgy toddler is up to mischief at the west Monument park, gunning for the exit, the clack clack clack of a cane, any cane, all canes, on the sidewalk, a black horse clop clop clop on cobblestone, yellow and red wooden buggy holds cabbage and other vegetables, the man guiding the horse yells to the mansard roofs, he wears a suit, he clutches blue hydrangeas and baby’s breath, the father sits his lanky daughter on the stone ledge, she tells him a story with big hands, and he watches, smiling, captivated by her world, their love will survive all of time, an army of tiny dogs descend the marble steps.

I think of pink peppercorns. 

She wears a neon jumpsuit and stands over her bike, I pass her, neon blur, the cop asks me where are you going, Miss? Orange rosehips wait patiently on a neighbor’s bush. What are they becoming?

IV. SUMMER

He was two blocks away when I saw him but his rawness washed over me, he was without skin, exposed to me and the Sun alone. The spikes across my skin blistered. Herons sit screaming in their nests, they shit so much, white splashes on the sidewalk below, I see one carrying a fish home, the babies squeal. The tiger lilies, milkweed, and mullein are in bloom. I want you to want me, when we’re walking through balmy air and sweat drips down my back, yes I want you to want me, when the quarter moon shines high and the whip-poor-will cries. Now I’m watching him weep without tears and there is talk of violence without fists. These days are much too long and heavy, scissors snipping at my nerve endings, my thoughts moving at a crawl. A ginger beer, please bartender, for my new friend since he’s wearing a nice vest, and I’ll put Edith Piaf on the jukebox and we will sing as if we ever knew sorrow. A woman walks down the street outside, yelling on the phone in Portuguese, the brownstones, scorched canyon walls, sailing her irritation skyward. I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that our rats are getting bolder, peeking out of pipes and trash cans, yes I see them, they’re right there, running between bushes on the hem of daylight. Summer is steaming dog shit and moist upper lips and ragged stares and greasy, greedy hands. Hiding in a shady nest, my blinds are drawn. I lost my stamina for these bright evenings. For you, too. Locked doors are blown open and I see red.

V. A CROW FLIES OVERHEAD

I see blue sky in the gaps of its wings. 

There’s a security guard who walks by the park. He overflows with dignity and grace, he clicks his heels and his black Ray Bans glisten and the silver rings across his knuckles flash like stars, and he points, finger slicing the air, at a man, they exchange a Hey Man and embrace, he walks away with true swagger, I am breathless. At the south end of the Monument, a black capped nightingale lofts punches at the dimming sky. There are plenty of dark silhouettes staggering behind the spewing steam vents, nodding, but there was a man one evening in the cool fog, tall in tailored slacks and a long black coat, leather boots, and a sharp, wide brimmed hat cast down over his eyes. Another night, a man with a haltering walk, leading his tootsie roll chihuahua named Bonbon, says she used to be sportier, in her youth. The Ravens sign glows purple in my neighbor’s window. I’m a confused woman wandering these deserted streets. I walk home alone, a wilted flower on my tongue. Street lights make shadowy lanterns of golden gingkos, a rippling dance across the dark, dark tar. 

VI. TOMORROW IS FAR AWAY

Driving down Wolfe Street looking to park.

Yellow lights flare around me, 
I catch a glimpse of a scene in a parked car,
bookended by shadows.

Jawlines and cheeks and two 
pairs of lips locked in embrace, 
illuminated by the street lamp 
streaming through their windshield. 
The city exhales. 

In a flash, I am gone.