Small hips Ro with your stripes and velvet hair, with your paint-flecked cheeks
With your prayer book shut and your crosses clean
Soon you’ll be clasping hands with Him in New York City, in the low east of New York
You’ll be waiting at the cusp of the Atlantic, willing bigger things to happen
You'll have left us all behind, coughing up sand
I can see you on West 23rd Street now, sucking on a pen and winking at the sky
