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S(t)e(l)(e)p(gr)i(a)(ph)a

there are reasons i take
home
the 40/40L bus
instead.

the two-block walk through
a neighborhood
quickly becoming mine
to
Telegraph.

wait,
in the midst
of
the exiting from
the Korean superstore,
where "no credit?
OK!" asides
the quadrant korean
symbols.

standing at the rapid stop
afacing the adult store
"Pimps 'n' Hoes" game
unabashedly unmoves

Downtown, the Tribune building,
turret
makes for a memorable nightscene
-and-
uptown carlights loom.

on twenty-seventh, it becomes
Pill Hill
where Dr. Craighorn still practices
years and years on

the First African Methodist Episcopal Church of
Oakland
at which mine eyes have seen
the Glory of
a hundred black men in
a hundred black suits
a hundred women in blazers,
mourning more joyfully
(more frequently)
than my imagination had ever bestowed upon me
in my central white america

on thirty-second, the
holistic acupuncture and herbal center
started by dr. woo,
now run by dr. on tong

during all of this,
a black man in
pouffy painters pants
has made quick friends with our driver
regaling on the evils of
"my LORD, what they put in ou' food!
joo know, all that WHITE food?!
why, that's all BLEACHED!
SUGAR ain't white! moLASSas is the
TRUE sugar!
i ain't let my kids eat none of that.
no, siree, no food outta a can
no fast food
none o it!"

and
neldam's danish bakery
since 1932.
lucky's florist
since 1956.

and there, after macarthur,
the fast-food row
the subways, macdo's, and
certainly
church's chicken,
at which sign
our driver's friend disembarks
to order "only the greens!"

entering temescal, before our library
sit the up-and-coming
youngsters in their up-and-coming
restaurants
cafe eritrea d'afrique to the right
sagrada,
dona tomas

and as we, too, descend
golden hues from the
Telegraph
lamps:
upstreet, downstreet,
Sepia.

S(t)e(l)(e)p(gr)i(a)(ph)a

on telegraph
whisps of shutterfly morning
whoosh of metro overground

you don't notice
until you do
, but we are never colorblind,

and my movement with the pavement
too jerky stops, too

stern, that pastel background of
ships on a distance
everyman's shore

the building tribune
stakes through that placidity
as i stake my ground

you are
you
are the moment

you are that whisp, that wonder, that breath
you are the long shore home.