for Charles Reznikoff
Underneath the entrance
angels ride up, down
pairs of feet descend
or rise to the street
Jacob only dreamed of a ladder
never imagining an endless conveyance
of gears, sprockets, metal teeth.
---
On the streetcar
two women
wiry, gray hair
parted in the middle
satchel, from the
markets - a conversation in Chinese
bouquets of scallions sprout at their feet.
---
A Chinese man sits
eyes closed
and bows
his two-string instrument
it is the place left,
strings echo
melancholy, through the modern station
"What is it you play" I asked,
moving very softly, not disturbing
"Ah-wooke," “Ah-wooke”
he had a case to collect money
I put in a coin
wanting to be understood, asked
louder, "What is that instrument?"
an even reply, "Ah-wooke,"
his bony hands resumed without restraint
to caress its neck
just as one relives
the memory of a country,
or a lover.
---
|