Mike Veve
on sugar hill, not calvary
comes december’s crown of ashes
a solstice sunrise over the scarred trunks
and shaddai beseeching branches of the trees lining 145th street
the bloodied sunrise struggles westward
lifting its lit-up golgotha skull, seeking the horizon
harlem’s december sun washes its feet in the waters
beyond the harlem river
before ascending the elohim bean pie sweetness of sugar hill
the solstice sun’s pleading eyes, adonai adonai
the fingertip blood-prick of sugar hill
casting bleak hues up blocks lined with streetlamp markers
and abandoned emaciated bike frames in chains
towards ominous broadway and its harlem haShem harbingers
along sunrise sidewalks that huddle
refusing to show their bruised faces to dawn
past the rigor-rictus of an onyx cat
its mouth spitting frozen scarlet rubies
like jehovah’s warnings bitten off at the whisker
its cat’s paw just a taut claw away from the curb
stumbling december sun of harlem, autumn’s orphan sun
numb feet stumbling station to station in sleepwalk steps
blindly along pitted and scarred concrete sidewalk slabs
sunrise strides jarred up in sarcophagus boots
rolling the stone of night away in sepulchre shoes
dragging those undreamt early morning steps like a cross
up that same old way every day Yahweh up that tired hill
up sugar hill, not calvary
harlem’s winter sun is slowly nailed up over the hudson river
for the merest moments of elohim’s briefest day
before laying its smeared december shield
down by the riverside
to study warmth no more