I spent the night in the Bronx
Staring at the spines of leather bound books
One was called Infectious Diseases
The other one was the Kama Sutra
I got up twice in the night
But I could not find The bathroom
The wood was warm on my bare feet
And in the morning we were business-like, polite
I took the train from
The tip of the island way back home
There were women hoisting
Glorious shopping bags full of gifts
When we got stuck underground
The conductor read to us from Rumi
And also other poems
He had fashioned for himself
When I got home I took off all my clothes
And tried to cry in front of the mirror
But nothing came
So I stepped into the shower
And let the water beat down the drain
