Welcome to New York City

By Jan Crawford

The antique incense burner
I was so excited to buy
In the French bazaar
Now held inches over my head
As he threatened to smash my skull
If I screamed again
I did not scream again
And six months later
The corner the other one
Forced me into as he struck
No weapon this time
Except his raging body
Picking off the young woman
Who looked most lost
Alone at the back of the herd
In a city that did not yet love me
Sixty-four years ago
And then the many blessed women
It took to love me back to life again