Alphabet City

I am having conversations with imaginary people,
but they are imaginary conversations, so
that's OK, right?

cc: Chagall 2021

The view from atop
is clear

They have us figured out,
by the numbers

Defiant oners wanted

cc: Chagall 2021

It is disheartening to discover people
who meant a lot to you, to whom
you meant absolutely nothing

cc: Chagall 2021

In '65, when I was 8,
I had a best friend 
for less than a year

I'd never known anyone 
to move into our neighborhood,
most folks moved out

Gloria and her brother Guy had moved to Alphabet City, New York,
with their Mom and Dad, from somewhere South

I met Gloria in second grade,
we had immediate chemistry,
always volunteered to work together,
did homework side-by-side after school,
ate together, coached one another on wardrobe
(sneakers, laces, how to roll jeans, dresses, and bow-ties)
...but then after a month, I moved up to third grade,
for I had exhibited intelligence outpacing mere mortal 2nd graders,
I lost my daily contact with her, and dozens of other newly-made friends,
as I made my way to the older (smarter?) class, where I found myself,
the new kid

In time, as I settled into the new grade, I did see Gloria more after school, 
we played street games - tag, hide and seek, Ringolivio -
we watched ant colonies through cheap plastic magnifying "glasses", 
played Scully and hopscotch, I protected her from the kids who hadn't taken 
to new kids, and I remember making her smile through those tears 
as well as tears brought on by her family

Her cheeks smudged dirty, her eyes would light up,
her voice thick and goofy as she'd become comfortable, trusting;
so good to relax and be oneself with a friend

Then one day, she was simply gone,
along with Guy and her parents,
as suddenly as they had appeared

And this week, for finding the class photograph - 
Gloria, top row, center, 
in a black and white dress,
me in the row below to the left, in the bow-tie, 
I find myself thinking about her

I need closure, I need to know that someone whom I knew
as a child, today recollects those days, and I want to know 
what they think, what she specifically thinks,
and so I search for her, and I am happy for each
Gloria Peters I find who has gone on to become a teacher,
a nurse, a seamstress, a CEO, I say that's great, and imagine
that it is my Gloria who has achieved those things - but they are not her

I pray your life was wonderful
Gloria, Gloria, come out, come out, wherever you are!

cc: Chagall 2021

In the eternal
forever comes and goes
many times

The spans of those
grow progressively more brief
with each instance until one
is inured and an eon is
a mere blink

cc: Chagall 2021

As you press your ear flat
to discern if something is 
alive within the wall, you
must first still your own 
heart, or else you will be
forever uncertain for the 
pounding

cc: Chagall 2021

Sometimes I forget if
I've put a cookie aside
then I look and boy 
am I surprised!

cc: Chagall 2021

...and I alone eye the Eye alone, 
and I am the only One

greetings from the asphalt
to the roaring rock, where 
in small shops along the shore 
beside the sea, she sells
her art

the sequin
on the elbow is
brilliant

bright red buildings 
down by the wharf,
that color commissioned
by the cousin of a king,
the pinkest of honey-crisps

where the wind knows not to rock
empty chairs, and the devil is unsure 
of the backdoor whereabouts

that's where the piece 
spends its nights,
awaiting your return
in the bump

cc: Chagall 2021

Birds flutter 
motionless 
in flight
the world turns quickly 
to make it appear 
they are flying

cc: Chagall 2021

Weep for all the damaged,
this normal state of being,
a pretense of perfection,
the epitome of petty hubris,
corporeal preference,
outpaced spirit

Live 
where you are 
when you are
who you are

Breathe enough
for your mind 
to space, freely 
roam

Unplug,
sever the tether,
rise above
inclement
weather

Atop clouds 
go cast ground shadows

Be light airily, 
imperfectly
human

cc: Chagall 2021