On The Apple

Tar Beach
On the roof
sun opens up
wind rises
world outside
over edges
steel saplings
no room for ground.
9-11-94

Clean
Everything is dirty
in this city
beaten faces of men
living in caves
under subways
accustomed vibrations
part of this place
dreams I had
were always cleaner.
9-11-94

Home
Kept in a locket
of buildings and cars
stifled by smoke
and excrement
look up
make sure
I'm in this world
clouds float by
migrating sponges
soaked with acquaintance
smiles
laughter
madness
everything from home
tempting me
candy
in a clear jar.
9-11-94

N.Y.C.
Got on a train
away
where I'm from
everybody feels restless sometimes
too long belonging
made some transition
big time
short roads
all the way nowhere.
9-11-94

Jumper
Every street the same
awnings sparking interest
something looked familiar
rightly I was so
taken with a diner
spot out on the walk
stain that never left
scarred my nighttime sleeping
falling off a ledge
little children watching
Polish dill the aftertaste
down
the doorman waiting
in the marble shining
Pops is dead
the doorknob tacked with candy
courtyard out the window
littered with belonging
on the stairwell
my soul-waiting
Mary Janes and loose pigtails
these years
hand outstretched
absorbing
all the happening
gathering resolve
reuniting self
postcard admission
token for the subway.
9-11-94

It only just occurs to me that these were written on September 11. Not THE September 11. I stood there on the rooftop feeling somber while the WTC stretched towards the sky an omen of things to come.

NYC is not what it was that day and neither am I.