Friday, er, saturday poetry

east river morning

A faceted shimmer glistens
in front of a red brick facade.

The brick building faces south-east;
basking in the morning autumn light.
Bricks are orange, red, pink, brown and every variation.
Windows and fire-escapes at close-set intervals;
shadows in sharp relief in the bright morning.

A regular pattern of black and white
flecks shimmer in front of the red.
Swirling back, forth, around and upward:
Whites glinting in the sun;
Grays and blacks fading to the background.
Living patterns move.

The pigeons fly up and out -
flock travelling as one.

Friday Poetry

Little girls in a boat.
Watching the lady come into view.
Mama with a tight hold on her treasures as they stand by the rail.

Liberty ahead.
Beacon high.
Home ahead.
Full of hope unseen.
Danger ahead.
Social safety nets left behind.

The fast-flowing stream of assimilation
pulls and tugs on the family.
Ties to the old world are stretched as the tide quickens.
Ebb and flow of joining a new society.
Cultural aid societies are pools of refuge.
Help offered by new friends
from the same corner of the map.

Little girls in a boat.
Breathless as the skyline and statue loom closer.

Last years pocket

You never know it is
the last time
in the season
that you will
hang up a winter coat.

Maybe you didn't.
Maybe you threw it over a chair-
but the days got warmer
and the coat was hung
in the back of the closet.

Time passes;
the chill returns;
the coat comes out.

The pockets:
a window back
to what was important
on that last
chilly day of spring.

Ticket stubs from a movie night.
A receipt from a date for afternoon coffee.
Cheerios.
A kleenex from your late-spring cold.
The thing to look in a toddler's ear,
a distraction for the wait in the pediatrician's office.