The orchid in the window
across the alley
waves to me.
It’s morning.
Again: early morning.
The city in abeyance.
I pick a long blonde hair
off the cuff of my pants
and look in the mirror.
Morning light reflects
off large oak-tree leaves,
a translucent green overlay.
Love is the emptiness of early day
a container to be filled,
if you want,
or left open
to receive
again and again.
Jared Roscoe
David Feinstein
Sarah
1 response so far ↓
dfeinstein // January 19, 2008 at 11:37 pm |
“The City in Abeyance.” That’s a powerful concept, for me. Today, I was riding on the train, thinking how important it is to resolve your experience with your environment, thinking about the point in a certain conversation when it is remarked upon that “Nobody looks at anybody else on the train!” I realized that actually there is a certain element of respectfulness in allowing those of us who are constantly impelled to perform boring and everyday tasks in public view to remain as unscrutinized as possible.
When you say that “the city is in abeyance,” it reminds me of the volitional quality of cities. All places, I guess. How they act upon you, how these acts come to represent a belief system. In the desert, water is scarce and the sun is hot. These are powerful images, then.
What would it take to put the city in abeyance? A private moment in public. Your poem is founded on a series of private moments, and the intimacy of these is very much like love.