I wrote this poem years ago as way to deal with the attacks of September 11. On the the anniversary of that horrible day, I am posting it in commemoration.
The poem is written as a series of short diary entries. That is the structure. I lived on Broad Street, near the corner of Wall Street. The location is important both to the context and also to the word-play. Feel free to share your thoughts.
Moving to New York
by Larisa Alexandrovna (published in Heyoka Magazine - Volume 6/ 2006)
1999 - Moving to New York (with lots of boxes and no space to unpack - filled boxes make good tables and chairs alongside the Broad /Wall in front of my kitchenette - a sink and a teapot for boiling memories.) was hard.
2000 - Stuck in New York (with paved shoes and high-heeled streets, dressed up versions of myself -move and alternate - in fetching the small necessities from the corner boxed grocerette, to finding my way home when the landscape is alit with lights and blinking buildings all decked out for making memories).
2000 - Adjusting in New York (grinding through the subway, alleyway, some-way, there is always movement, packing me into the Broad ways and
streets of going somewhere fast).
2000 - Breathing in New York (alone, boxed away from knowing the grid, grind, guffaws of the metropette, finding my little places that made sense, books were places, the rest was dreaming)
2000 - Me in New York (unpacked from another life where soda popped and black was always in, replacing books with faces and chairs with bodies became easier).
2001 - Living in New York (with my seat belt fastened, moving from stop to stop in taxiettes, the ways, subways, alleyways, some-ways were used for downtown drop offs, uptown uplifts required
wheels and I was happy to go in either direction with my new faces and bodies, who now had names too).2001- Living in My New York (I knew the grid and my way back home, looking south toward the twins, they lit the map, my high-heels on paved streets were easy and just as fast as any native, black from head to toe, I breezed - from my way to Broad to Wall - myself back in for a nap before going out again with names who now had memories.)
2001 - 9 1 1 (the twins fell so no map was visible to anyone, not even from above the world, bodies were the same as cracks on the sidewalks, even walking ones - parts were in windows and windows were in parts, the world was dusted over, monolithic steel caskets burned live and in color but were called numbers counting down from backwards in time, 7, 2, 1 and 0 became the ground forever).
2001 - Leaving New York (with lots of boxes and no space to pack - filled boxes make good distractions from memories alongside the Broad/Wall in front of my kitchenette - no teapots large enough to boil out books and chairs who once had names) was hard.
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It's the first thing I've read today that truly reminded me what day it was.
We all, who lived in NY that day, have our stories, but few of us can find poetry.
Very special.
*blush*