ALYSSA CURCIO

Walking down the street

Rose-wrapped cheeks count
another day praying for snow
in a 40 degree city.
I tap out the count
of my footfalls in a beat
against my leg and religiously
avoid the sidewalk cracks.
Though if I broke my mother’s back,
my father is a chiropractor,
so we just might be in luck.

In avoiding said cracks,
I catch the curb with the corner
of my sneaker.
The Sabrett hot dog vendor stifles a laugh.
My boxing coach always yells at us
to help people up,
to not be an asshole,
her Irish accent punctuating the admonition,
but I think I’m more like the hot dog man
than I’d like to admit.

I think about how yesterday
Sam said the rumors were true—
taking T does indeed shoot your libido
to the moon.
Maybe I need a dose or two to save me
from the dry spell December
has blessed me with.
But here I go again
appropriating things that just aren’t
meant for me.

My dirty little secret is that
I love to walk
atop the subway grates
and warm my hands
with the hot, dusty air
that catapults up
as the trains pass,
inhaling deeply the PM2.5
and other poisons the MTA
lovingly delivers us.

In the station, there’s a rat
on the tracks.
Not a rare occurrence,
but this rat is black as night.
I’m thrilled, a unicorn!
I didn’t know New York Rats
were available in this color.
But as he scuttles by,
I realize that he is only
smudged head to toe
in the inky dirt that clings to the tracks.
And I thought that maybe
I’ve also been made unrecognizable
by the shit I’ve been rolling around in.

Alyssa Curcio (she/her) is a reproductive justice activist and lawyer whose advocacy has been covered by The New York Times, The New Yorker, and NBC News. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Pinky Magazine, Writers Resist, Screen Door Review, and Arlington Literary Journal. A Virginia native, Alyssa currently lives in New York City.