March 11, 2012

I was eight years old the first time he followed me,

His name was Earnie and he was the fiercest cat in town

And a worldly traveller. He lived in New York and I lived

In New Jersey, we shared a street and we would meet at the

State line every Saturday afternoon for fruity tea and conversation.

 

(New neighbors have moved in where Barbara used to live,

She died of cancer and when her husband moved away

He brought the cat with him).

 

...

 

I went the wrong way to the Vietnamese coffee shop and I believe

I’ve stumbled on paradise. I am leaning up against the fence because

Below, a stone path outlines the river’s daylit aqua green

And the Brooklyn Bridge hovers just as it does in the postcards,

And I no longer mind the new neighbors’ evening barbecues,

Or that the West Village palmist now sells candy and old magazines

Uptown.

 

A barge floats across the silver-spun teal so I exhale

What I miss now and inhale what I’ll miss next. 

Reviews

[asdarkeyesclose]

i like the way your poetry is local to where you live and the way you take us there so that i can see the cat and the 'West Village palmist'. i liked the small glimpse of paradise and all the poetry of the last couple of lines. really you should be sending this sort of thing to small magazines as i think they would publish you.