Commons

.
you knew paradise was
an oblong of green trees;
water blue…
.
you knew Boston Common
was the place I’d find you.
.
clambering up the rough bark of a tree,
unmindful of grazed palms or skeptical company
in the fervent desire to reach the lush canopy
where birds nest, birds soar through their peaceful sanctuary..
.
my heel wedged in the crook of an elms collarbone
I pulled out a quarter and sparked up a cone
leaned into the flow of the life that surrounded,
unmindful of time frozen in a flash from the ground as
a cadence floated on the breeze of midsummer air..
.
a statue calling like a new groom,
from sculpted lips to my sculpted ear.
.
his voice a lilt of sugar-coated
phonic spheres.. he cried
that I was his Caryatid, I was his bride..
.
he called for skeptical company to be left behind,
so I might take my rightful place at his side,
.
in another quart of the green,
the gateway to this scene.
.
.
.
I found energy enough to forsake my view
although the ascent was triply less taxing,
I returned to you.
.
.
.
we found energy enough to cross the park
descend three staircases ahead of the dark
a contrast stark but you found the mark
.
you found energy enough to chortle with glee
when the friction of nylon on shiny metal
flew me down a few flights – back to playing the fool,
my posterior hit hard floor.. you thought it was cool
.
and I wanted to do it again just so I’d have more of
you laughing with me.
.
.
.
sliding along metal cell-grey,
unconcerned for the disapproving way
strangers viewed us;
we both knew they secretly wished to be that way..
.
grey suits, briefcases, wrinkles, frowns may
reflect on each other, but could not tarnish our day
.
so we laughed and twirled, falling across the laps
of the same strangers, but instead of glaring back
they laughed with us  – you curtsied, I spun around and around.
and there was no doubt that we were the cause,
of the gaiety underground.
.
.
.
Exit to the square and it was dark,
a contrast stark but you found the mark;
held me while I dreamed of where I’d been,
.
scaling monuments to pose with heroes,
grey and cold, past echoes of wars
wearing on this foreign land,
their solidarity assumes my fears, you pat my hand,
.
their solidarity shoulders them through the years,
like an hourglass makes captives of grains of sand,
that belong in the sweltering steam of the desert,
heating the feet of a thirsty man;
.
but instead trickle away time that confirms our worst fears –
we must make the best of these years or we can
guarantee misery for all of us –
.
I’d rather escape,
meet you in my thought palace.
.
.
.
that frustration felt shelved,
that plight held tight against the dark night
the final blood is shed, the final line read,
the final obituary shared, the final grief spent.
.
.
.
we cried tears for our statue till I
lifted my head and though you said words I said
I retreated back into my heart for I knew
we soon again would be apart –
.
with empathy like this,
maybe sweet words last longer
.
like our past glistens stronger;
.
when viewed in the new light
of another day
.
in the Boston Common –
living OUR way.
.
.
.
[end/arken1999]