Washington Square Park opened again either today or yesterday. It was odd to have a whole in the middle of the area. Standing in the middle of the park, finally, this part of town between Broadway and 6th Avenue makes a little more sense to me.
Here’s a not-so-great photo and poem to commemorate the occasion. Perhaps a form of rellenar las ausencias.
The park is closed this winter, the fountain spigot sealed.
I used to walk through the Triumphal Arch after work
the long sun fighting back the advancing night.
We’ve halted our daily war, remunerated in doses of private glory.
The standard-bearer, stout, is still in place —
it’s the fountain that had been flowing meters too far right for too long.
I’m not sure where the wise and honest now repair,
if any among us can still lay claim.
We’d traded job security for national security,
fear for fear, consumed by the latter.
Of course, no armies of stockjobbers, bums, students,
daylaborers, and artists march through now.
Spring and acoustic guitars, dreads
chess and tourists, dogs, suntans and
The event is in the hand of God.
February 24, 2008