tompkins square park
tompkins square park
fall leaves trickle down
tickle of autumn peers around the corner, a sun about to set
a reminder constant in sniffled noses
denim jacket season for mild-mannered libras
in an idealist’s mind, fall is a new york favorite
fiery flames of yellow and red envelope any bruised soul
i step on and over rotting brown elm and pigeon droppings
a hint of fresh piss and day-old trash, sewer mice lunch, wafts through my brain
10 steps ahead of me, i see him.
gazing at her.
his eyes skim around slyly, slowly
as if no one should notice,
because no one will.
no one usually does -
it’s tompkins square park.
a late horsefly buzzes the distance between us, connecting us to one another
as if saying, sorry i’m late to the party, i simply forgot summer is over
she holds a steady downward dog
he leans against the chain-link fence, rusted to perfection
one arm up, casual
chin tucked under, eyes wide
tickets he won from a lottery, front row
to a show she didn’t know she was performing.
scrutinized under his invisible spotlight
he studies her every move.
and i, play my role in this dance, in silence.
on any other thursday afternoon, perhaps no one would see him
and he might get his usual show
private, in public
unknowing heads bobbing around him, zipping to their next destination
coffee at stumptown, bagels before they’re bagged,
always somewhere to be
he stands there watching her, clutching his precious tickets,
new york magic.
but on this thursday afternoon,
he’s caught my attention,
he’s my show
today, i walk towards him.
i stand next to him, in silence
just like he is
lean my arm on the fence
just like he is
and my eyes wander
just like he is
i grimace, the germaphobe in me.
and i wait.
i wait for him.
he catches my eye.
winter’s last breath, came early
for half a second, he returns the favor
no, of course he was not
staring at her body
objectifying her curves
imagining himself in her
of course not - she’s only
living her life
doing yoga
in a park
during a pandemic
when public space is sacred
why would he ever do such a thing?
but it’s tompkins square park
anything goes. right?
she presses firmly against patchy grass
and i am her guard dog
eyes on my target
steaming with simmering resentment
he walks away
and i sigh
another man who is armed
by the heavy, bulletproof armor of the patriarchy
a proven case, time and time again
he is just another passerby.
of course there is no harm
in taking advantage of a free show
in tompkins square park
he’s only people watching
right?
i wonder
if he thinks
her yoga is a show she puts on
for him
that she careful selects her cutest outfits
for him
that she was perhaps made by god?
for him
but sir, our asses are not for you to look at
our pussies are not for sale
no, not for you. or you, or you
our routines are not a show you can purchase tickets for
wait in line for, just to play your cards and make a move
and suddenly, she’ll want you too?
no, you didn’t even approach her
speak to her like a human being
instead, you monitored her like a rising
peking duck awaiting the soy sauce sugared skin to caramelize
no sir, i’m so sorry to tell you
she’s not for you
and neither is she, nor her, or me
a heat begins to rise in me
fills to a brim so high, it just about spills over
oh no, it might explode
a mountain of emotions: is that anger, frustration, fear?
a ball of salt water nestles behind my esophagus, waiting its turn to emerge
why do i stop it?
is it because it’s daytime, and i’m in public?
unstoppable force dribbles a river down my face
i trace my fingers on slivers of dreary yellow
a bottle cap rests on a tuft of blades
i tap my foot off-beat, to a song that isn’t playing, on a week-old cigarette
and he, who is buried in the depths of the black hole of my mind, begins to appear again
he, who tried to pay me for sex inside a closed hotel door i didn’t want him in
he, who followed me home from a walmart for two miles
under a shadowed highway bridge alongside honking horns who served my escorts
he, who said he wanted to make a new friend
in a language and culture familiar enough, but distant from mine
he, who stayed just a bit too long
his hand, lingering on my thigh a bit too high
and he, who was stroking himself inside a worn hoodie
eyes glued to mine
up and down, up and down
the movement as reliable as the c train i was on
i could only focus on the bouncing vibration of the tracks beneath me
“what would living in new york be if you’ve never experienced subway masturbation?”
my friends would laugh
and he, who grazed my ass ever so gently, in an aisle full of neon pothos
so light was his touch, i thought i had bumped him.
i said “sorry.” why the hell did i say sorry?
it wasn’t until the second time when he came to do his rounds
i froze
listened carefully to his footsteps reproaching
one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four
like the thunder after lightning that you trust, to tell you how scared you should be,
even if it doesn’t change a thing
“did he just touch your ass too?” i ask kristine
“yes.”
we stood in silence
like i stand in silence now
at tompkins square park
i sit
and turn back toward my book once again
try to decipher the words on the page
i cannot focus
i cannot focus on my studies
a tuition that is ringing me dry
and i have class in an hour
i take a deep breath and let it go
i feel the weight now, suffocating me into a calmness
because i know i’ll forget this soon
tuck it away deep in that black hole, a file marked “do not open, unless you’ve had too many glasses of pinot”
until it happens again, and i might be reminded
of this thursday
in tompkins square park