Crying on a stoop in stuyvesant.

Sometimes, the only vindication for this train is that it rides through the sunset so damn well.

Hi, my name is Clarita.

I grew up in New York City.

I found my way into the world via my mother, in a Brooklyn basement. She was a postal worker for 30 years. She's seen the most of the least, and the least of the most. Me? I've been crying on a stoop in Stuyvesant for every night of sacrifice, for those lives who aren't even mine.

that's the thing about New York. our tears are never our own.

They roll out of us, often in silence, into the vortex of skyscrapers and brick bones, lifting into the atmosphere before they find another host.

it's easier to find a drunk host.

the way we work, is the way we live.

sometimes its not even alive, it's a daily death, of someone we were the day before. a daily loss of relationship to self, and the finding of the self sometimes only exists in a split second,

when you've caught the sun over the Brooklyn bridge, piercing your lids as you're falling asleep on your way home.

I'M ALIVE. BUT I'M DEAD.

a flowering and beseeched narrative.

crown me, while crowning my mother. she looked into all the faces, of natural new yorkers, who grew up here and non-natural new yorkers, who create charms....but sweep away the charms every day, because they can't breathe

in their own

space...

because, their landlord

won't fix

the filter.

my heart bellows the sounds of popping

lite working

Dominican boys

hanging off the rails

insisting

showtime.

it's

SHOWTIME

SHOWTIME

SHOWTIME

SHOW ME MINE

GIVE ME MINES

I related and religioned with the best of them. I married boys with inner city workings, and boys who were ripe new to the city streets. so there were more flowers and peaches.

there were a hundred times take outs,

but take outs in the silence

but not silence.

there was clicking of

the radiator

that shared more warmth

than we wanted

or that we were willing

to share

with each other.

because there were too many bricks laid

already.

you would think that a project means

its constantly unfinished

but finished

and this time, it's both.

that's new york.

I was crying that night on my stoop

in stuyvesant

because

there were no more words

after i left my body

and saw myself

from above

and the whole city

laughed

because i was an angel now

and they thought they had seen

it all.

because that's the new york.

everyone thinks

to forget to feel

then they feel way too much

all at once

and it lifts

out of our bodies

above the most

to find a new host to befriend

a new job to date

a new boyfriend to work

a new family to rush in

and cry out

STABILITY

WHERE IS IT?

IN WHICH, TO WHICH BURROUGH, IS IT HIDING?

be rough, she said.

IT'S RIDING THE TRAIN

ON A SUNDAY NIGHT

CRYING ON MY STOOP

BECAUSE I FORGOT WHAT I ATE

AFTER

I DROWNED MYSELF

IN FLOWERS

TO LESSEN

the joy

i was so foreign

to feeling.

i love it here.

i hear the pigeons

daily.

i smell mildew

in that basement

where i grew.

are you sure you and i are living in the same

life? here, in new york?

what if my york be old

and york

be knew

or known

to ewe from

before

like the highline

railroad

meadow

they found so slightly

and turned it into the new york

you really wanted.

do you still want it?

did you eat,

the ice cream?

are we on top of each other, or

right in between each other

together

without boundaries

in our relationships

or the way

we speak

to each other?

HAVE YOU EVER STAYED IN A SHELTER?

i cried on my stoop that night

because my whole basement life

came to a head

when i was always fine

i was really always fine

because this city

is mine

then why are these people

TALKING DOWN MY LINE.

MY HIGH

HIGH

LINE

WHERE IM FINE

NOMATTER IF THERE IS A MEADOW

WITHOUT ANY

SIGNS

TO SAY

YOU CANT WALK HERE.

EVEN IF YOU ARE

A NEW YORKER.

WE CAN'T FIND THE TIME

TO FIND YOU A HOME

YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO DO THAT

YOURSELF.

I thought my home

was within me

i thought i knew people

really well

after all the gatherings

i attended

in everywhere

the library

the park

the circle

the square

my hair is acceptable here.

i've been to others where,

it's knot.

people smile at the extension.

PEOPLE LEAVE USUALLY TO COME BACK.

THAT'S HOW THIS WORKS.

usually a different burrough,

different woman

different fight,

different job

different truth

new awareness

new findings

in the 20's

at the trim shops

you don't have to be

atelier bound

working for free

on findings

found

INTERN

but you may not

KNOW ABOUT IT

if you grew up in

QUEENS

because thats your

KINGDOM.

THAT'S IT.

YOU PROBABLY NEVER LEFT.

BECAUSE YOU'RE A WELL SEASONED

OLD YORKER

OF SPANISH, MUSLIM

DESCENT

BECAUSE WE MELT

TOGETHER

AND AT LEAST

THERES THAT.

I was crying on the stoop that night

because I had never felt

such light

in my eyes

before I saw the truth

that i create

my relation

to you,

york

a dying

living

SIZE

OF

SCRAPERS

GETTING HIGHER

SO THE CLOUDS CAN

SPEAK.

LOUDER.

please come live in my basement

i was born there

but really, the truth is

my lies

never

reveal themselves

because my mother told me

never to trust a

"NEW'

yorker,

because they

don't know the half

of

you

you

are

the oldest

store

in manhattan

and you've seen it all

through

the foggy windows

of your own

worth.

Hello again, my name is Clarita.

I'm a new

new

yorker

because I closed the cycle

of my ancestors

who stole a life here

in the bronx

"x"

because everywhere else

made no sense

once we realized

we could own

the streets

with loudness

and no one

may enter beyond

what we allow

past a certain street

where the skins change

the knowledge change

the observers change

the babies change

if you are a new new yorker,

some nights you might cry

on a stoop because you gave

your whole life away

to someone or something

that was never meant for you.

i'm sorry,

but its true.

we are brick breaking out here

we are capsized by trials

but we grow

like roses

in tupacs concrete

because in bedstuy

biggie would

really allow it

because he really

knew

how to

crown it

not just for himself

but every step

by every brother sister

that found themselves

closely walking

that line

back into the city

so divine

no matter

the circumstance

because somewhere

someone

is

happier with time

that they have floated

above the city

and back down

to find

they were always the host

crying

with joy

to find.