new york part 1.
what’s life without angst?
what’s love without hate?
could i, would i,
love you in a train?
could i, would i,
have you and abstain?
too tight to tell,
too close to smell,
the meeting of friends
on corners
and in bars,
the hot sun melting
the music in the street
into my hands,
the ice-chill
emotionless woof
of the sub
way convincing me
i’m going to
never, ever grow my toenails out
and put rhinestones on them.
new york part 2.
there is a church
above the subway entrance.
as i stand here,
i have the reflex
to reach out and kiss you.
tho if i acted on it,
i would kiss a stranger.
you are not here yet.
how do you suppose that might play out?
snagging a stranger,
looking down and only
picking one and guessing
based on their shoes.
tricky.
do you suppose the train has become part of mass?
“And us to Thy Service–“
RUMBLE
“Thunder down Your Love–“
RUMBLE
do you believe
it has given
someone goosebumps
before, this coincidence?
that one morning
as someone was
feeling sly or sneaky
the preacher pastor rabbi
used the subway schedule
to shake fear
into the snickering sidelines?
and did he thank god?
or the city of new york?
new york part 3.
i found a carousel today,
like opening a chesnut.
i walked through a park
until faintly,
briefly,
like hearing a brook,
like breaking a love,
i felt the
discord and
sweet strain
of what will never be mistaken
for anything but
carousel tingling.
in ten seconds,
i relived all of those
spent moments
in nantasket,
melting ice cream,
tuna sandwiches
with the
crispy chips inside
on nana-bread.
the grit of sand
and the tease of salt.
maybe i’m old enough now to reach the brass.
Sarah Farnham 