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Poems - This City is an Island
This City is an Islandby John
On the corner of Westminster
Joe, one of the downtown spare change collectors says to me,
"You know this city used to be an island?"
I say, "Really? How much do you need today?"
"No really, before they uncovered the canal, we used to be standing over water
& if you live here long enough you'll never be able to leave
Psychic forces from Lovecraft's grave bend a special type of gravity - horizontal
That's only attracted to metallic minerals Leached from the cities pipes,
So DON'T DRINK THE WATER!..."
"& this must be why getting to Boston takes so long,
getting home seems to be a breeze
& why Providence the TV show is so popular?"
"Yeah, this city used to be an island"
& I remember how once, Providence didn't have lights
cathedral office towers didn't rise over 3 Decker tenements
factory buildings - refurbished into studios
The clouded night sky didn't always glow
If this city was an island, the canal didn't cleave through the middle of it all
It seeped & flowed beneath, which means once it was something else
& someone decided to pave over the water
build buildings over the water
& I know this city used to be an island of safety
a stop on the underground railroad
the DPW still finds tunnels long forgotten
but it was never an island of diversity, everyone on the railroad stopped
& then moved on,
(The East Side of Providence is Lilly White)
"This city used to be an island"
& we're standing on the right side of the canal
looking at the park
noon time sun casting no shadow - even the alleys get warm
this city is an island of concrete
the tallest office towers in an hour's drive
so I look to my office window - 17 floors up
looking from there my house is an island of color
the only pink house on a horizon of houses built in the 1700's
all facing south to see the ships sail into harbor - back when Providence was an island of commerce
now the view from my door is of another house & my office window
a quarter mile away next to the other 16 in it's row (perspective)
& I look at the canal that ferried business to the Blackstone
that now burns every other Saturday night
bringing tourists to Water Fire
public art without public parking
I see barges begin to burn, stop, morph into static Steel - Cauldrons full of flaming wood dying to ash & carbon...
This city is becoming an island of service - big business doesn't make things here anymore
& I looked past Joe to where our house should be & you probably are
remembered how I laid awake this morning listening to the sound of you sleeping
looking out from the bed surrounded by shoes & dirty socks - dirty clothes & half read books I should finish
our own island - surrounded by living
& I said, "Joe, you're right. I'll probably never leave.
Everything I need is right here,
On my own island
But Joe, I think you mean peninsula."
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Helps if you live th
(Score: 1 )
by spacebar on Wednesday, October 18, 2006 (12:21:57)
Helps if you live there.
Added on: 15-Oct-2006 | Hits: 832
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