Between First Avenue and Bedford

I’ve been riding this train
for a very long time now,
much longer than the woman
who just got on. While all stand clear,
the doors close, and we
are locked in this silver eel together.
It is two minutes beneath the East
River until the next stop and I feel
the pressure pounding, my ears popping,
and her eyes perusing the train
as if it is her first time. She has goldfish eyes.
They are wide and forgetful eyes. 
Dark and beautifully unforgettable eyes.
This journey will always be new for her.
I think of talking to her, ask her what
book she’s reading. But all my thought
drift upward like hot air, and seep through
the cement and cement to drown, unheard,
in the East River.

As the train arrives at Bedford Avenue,
I am tired and the train lulls me to sleep.
My eye close like a camera lens,
but no photo for memory is saved.
When I wake up, she is gone. But,
I know tomorrow she’ll be back with those
glassy refreshing eyes. God’s most beautiful
anointment, those youthful Goldfish eyes.


If These Waters Could Speak

I walked along the Belt Parkway today, looking for things to write about. With all the trash that pollutes the waters near the Parkway, the water brought multiple beer cans, beer bottles, and other man made items. It was sad, but it made me think of everywhere that water had been.

If these waters could speak

They’d tell stories

Of kissing the shore

And being sent away

They’d sing of punctured hulls

And songs like broken glass.

They’d whisper of the rocks

Skipped all their faces

They’d shout and praise

For all the people they’ve held

If only these waters

Could speak.