On the C train platform the woman with the white veil

bobby pinned to the back of her black hair sang,

“Jesus, pray to Jesus to save us.”

Her voice undulated and echoed so deeply

that the girl in the dress suit and white running sneakers,

the boy with the film student glasses and thickly

cuffed jeans, the elderly woman pulling her shopping cart

thump by thump up the stairs, and the man who has

lived here all his life, stopped

and shut their eyes.

Her voice shuddered, “You don’t know

who you’re standing next to. I could be

a killer, a druggy, a mother. People, God died

to resurrect us.”

Lights from an oncoming train illuminated

the tracks and a heavy underground wind fluttered

through scraps of paper and lifted our hair.

"God,” she sang, “God can take someone

who called themselves the devil and make them

love themselves."

And the girl with blond dread locks and the round face

of an Arkansas road walked to the edge

of the platform and bowed her head.
Not sure if she was embarrassed, or yes, praying.