Posted tagged ‘dawn’s early cloud cover’

Fleeting (September 2014, NYC)

September 29, 2014
20140211-060138.jpg

An old photo! It was so much pinker than this today, and cloudy, and warm!

Fleeting (September 2014, NYC)

A dawn today more neon than dusk
the pink deepened by cloud cover, pinker than a painting sold
by a tourist’s seaside, oranger than sherbet, oranger even
than a distant
conflagration,
and, to the east, two
flashes, ongoing brightnesses more still
than a morning star
and its mirror–
helicopters, I’m guessing, or some machine
that balances on air, and my mind’s map places them
above the U.N., somewhere over
the FDR Drive, which pricks my wonder
at the beauty of this city,
not because I don’t like the U.N., but because I don’t like
the need for sentinels in the sky,
no matter how starlike.

And I was thinking all night, separately,
about the word careen–how it might describe
that day I rode with you
in the back of an ambulance, my back pushed
against its refrigerator walls, speeding along
that same FDR, how
my one hand gripped
what it could
while the other lay so lightly
across your forehead,
how the EMT called you sir
as he asked questions to keep you with us,
how I tried to croon quietly, even
chat, beneath the overhead scream,
maybe about the weather–
another heat wave–but what really careened
was all the fear I kept tamped down
below the lid of my voice box, my murmur soft
as a mown lawn, and I keep thinking now that fear
is something like magma
inside a globe, below the (relatively) smooth crust
of sea, sand, field,
fervid and spasming,
and no wonder
we call the Earth a good mother, the way she keeps it stowed
below her countenance mostly
except, you know, when it’s simply
too much and she cracks badly, and her face
breaks, her shoulders
shake, and everyone else
gets upset too–

Now, the sky clouds completely, pinks greyed–
those in-between times
fleeting—and the helicopters become
mere blips in the overcast–I have to squint to find
their beacons–and the point of all this–
and I mean–ALL this–is somehow
to hold on, get through
it, do
your best.

*********************************

A very drafty poem–or something–for With Real Toads Open LInk Night–I am in Manhattan and so sorry that I did not take a picture this morning of the truly beautiful dawn.   Sorry also for the length of this–just written in between things, and not enough edited, as has been an issue lately.