At Last the New Arriving

Like the horn you played in Catholic school

the city will open its mouth and cry

out. Don’t worry ‘bout nothing. Don’t mean

no thing. It will leave you stunned

as a fighter with his eyes swelled shut

who’s told he won the whole damn purse.

It will feel better than any floor

that’s risen up to meet you. It will rise

like Easter bread, golden and familiar

in your grandmother’s hands. She’ll come back

Heaven having been to far from home

to hold her. O it will be beautiful.

Every girl will ask you to dance and the boys

won’t kill you for it. Shake your head.

Dance until your bones clatter. What a prize

you are. What a lucky sack of stars.