You ask where are you,
and it’s not so easy to answer.
Yes, I see a sign that reads
Orange Street
but what does that mean?
Does it mean more
that a man is selling fur coats
from the trunk of his car?
He’s strung white lights
around the edge of the trunk
so that the small lights’ twinkle
jumps onto some of the furs’ nap.
Does it mean more that people
are pulling their late model
cars, most silver in color,
over to the curb littered in shimmering
debris from the days’ events and then
jumping from their cars and trying on –
even modeling -- the coats? Their
silhouettes get caught
in their own headlights.
Maybe the geography is clearer
at the next corner where
most people stand without warm
coats,-- one man has no coat at all--
as they wait for the bus or something,
maybe anything,
to transport them somewhere else,
maybe anywhere else.
You might not agree but for me
the telltale sign given us by the man
walking down the middle of the street
slapping his hand with rolling pin,
over and over, whap, whap,
tells me that I don’t understand the language
and there will be no lessons here tonight.
P.S.
You know, for sure, that
you may not take the few
images I’ve offered you
and say
oh yes
I know all
about that place.
Part of the terrain
here is also the handsome
must-be father and son
found jogging most days around the
lake by the cathedral.
The image of the cathedral
sometimes reflects in the water
and then seems to spill onto
anyone nearby even in the thin winter light.
And, yes, you’re right,
it’s both a miraculous and granite building
but the real sacred heart shines
in the look that passes from man to boy
and echoes in the sound of the boy’s laughter
when he sprints ahead and “wins”.
Born in Paterson, Patricia Bender still lives in New Jersey and writes
wherever and whenever she can. Posted September 2008.
