Morningside
Darkness came early in winter its shadows bare trees across the path
as I walked home through campus into the force of the wind
coming off the river’s ice, compressing curving around the buildings
on 116th Street, cutting through my thrift store coat
Friday nights I’d bring home pizza for my wife and me
sausage and cheese, plus salad
we’d have with frozen daiquiris, let go of the week,
watch “The Name of the Game” on our black and white t.v.
When the weather got warm you could hear prowlers on the roof and
the fire escape outside our double-locked curtained bedroom window
a little girl was raped in the lobby of the building next door
our old car with Virginia plates broken into
the back seat crowbarred to get into the empty trunk
a professor who had fled Nazi persecution was mugged
robbed and murdered on the sidewalk near the law school
every spring for three years in April and May the university shut down
protests by students and others over Vietnam
hitting home for me, my draft lottery number was 14
King and Kennedy were assassinated the year before
I wore my blue and white RFK button
when I rode the subway down to clean out my desk
at Kennedy for President headquarters
people looked at me, eyes connecting
not focusing safely past, as New Yorkers usually do
their tears now meeting mine
and down in the Village some rich girl and her friends
making bombs in the basement of her daddy’s townhouse
blew it all up, nothing left just books
on a shelf on the next-door wall three stories up
When our final spring there finally came
the annual campus shutdown had become routine
so too the dirt and smells of the subway
muggings after dark in Riverside Park
rats in the garbage, dog shit on the sidewalk
the constant honking of horns
Classes done, degrees earned, we skipped graduation ceremonies
cleaned the apartment washed the windows gave away our t.v.
applied fresh roach killer to the baseboards in the kitchen
splurged, had a goodbye dinner at Trader Vic’s in the Plaza Hotel
with friends, two couples who like us had come from the West
we loaded the car Saturday Memorial Day weekend, headed out
Riverside Drive, George Washington Bridge across the Hudson
south to I-80, westbound home to California
That was more than 50 years ago and since then
I have gone back to New York countless times
on business, my wife and I on vacation
stayed in hotels that we or my company or my clients could afford
taken cabs, black town cars, gone to theatres museums restaurants
had lunch in the board of trustees lounge of the Met
worked for clients on Wall Street in what became Ground Zero
and in Midtown Rockefeller Center
we took our kids back there in high school
to museums Broadway musicals the Statue of Liberty Ellis Island
even the old neighborhood, still as stressed and dirty as before
Our son moved to New York a few years ago to pursue his music career
performed in Carnegie Hall lived in Williamsburg and Green Point
a Brooklyn I never knew
he married they have a 2-year old born at the beginning of the Pandemic
And now they’re moving West, their time in the city accomplished
my wife and I went back there last week to see them
help with our grandson
help them prepare to make their move to California
We had a free Saturday afternoon
took the subway up to 116th and Broadway
walked through the old neighborhood
first time in a long time
found its sidewalks now washed
plantings and little curved iron fences around the trees
where dogs used to shit
we checked our old place its facade scrubbed clean
And over by Morningside Drive
on a building where one of my professors lived
ivy had grown, covering the walls, fresh green-emerald leaves
shimmering in the wind blowing softly from the river
Flowers were blooming in a garden by the front door
And above a cluster of daisies
a soft pink rose held my gaze
Nodded to me slightly gently in the breeze
Nodded again
Waited
And returned my smile
Darkness came early in winter its shadows bare trees across the path
as I walked home through campus into the force of the wind
coming off the river’s ice, compressing curving around the buildings
on 116th Street, cutting through my thrift store coat
Friday nights I’d bring home pizza for my wife and me
sausage and cheese, plus salad
we’d have with frozen daiquiris, let go of the week,
watch “The Name of the Game” on our black and white t.v.
When the weather got warm you could hear prowlers on the roof and
the fire escape outside our double-locked curtained bedroom window
a little girl was raped in the lobby of the building next door
our old car with Virginia plates broken into
the back seat crowbarred to get into the empty trunk
a professor who had fled Nazi persecution was mugged
robbed and murdered on the sidewalk near the law school
every spring for three years in April and May the university shut down
protests by students and others over Vietnam
hitting home for me, my draft lottery number was 14
King and Kennedy were assassinated the year before
I wore my blue and white RFK button
when I rode the subway down to clean out my desk
at Kennedy for President headquarters
people looked at me, eyes connecting
not focusing safely past, as New Yorkers usually do
their tears now meeting mine
and down in the Village some rich girl and her friends
making bombs in the basement of her daddy’s townhouse
blew it all up, nothing left just books
on a shelf on the next-door wall three stories up
When our final spring there finally came
the annual campus shutdown had become routine
so too the dirt and smells of the subway
muggings after dark in Riverside Park
rats in the garbage, dog shit on the sidewalk
the constant honking of horns
Classes done, degrees earned, we skipped graduation ceremonies
cleaned the apartment washed the windows gave away our t.v.
applied fresh roach killer to the baseboards in the kitchen
splurged, had a goodbye dinner at Trader Vic’s in the Plaza Hotel
with friends, two couples who like us had come from the West
we loaded the car Saturday Memorial Day weekend, headed out
Riverside Drive, George Washington Bridge across the Hudson
south to I-80, westbound home to California
That was more than 50 years ago and since then
I have gone back to New York countless times
on business, my wife and I on vacation
stayed in hotels that we or my company or my clients could afford
taken cabs, black town cars, gone to theatres museums restaurants
had lunch in the board of trustees lounge of the Met
worked for clients on Wall Street in what became Ground Zero
and in Midtown Rockefeller Center
we took our kids back there in high school
to museums Broadway musicals the Statue of Liberty Ellis Island
even the old neighborhood, still as stressed and dirty as before
Our son moved to New York a few years ago to pursue his music career
performed in Carnegie Hall lived in Williamsburg and Green Point
a Brooklyn I never knew
he married they have a 2-year old born at the beginning of the Pandemic
And now they’re moving West, their time in the city accomplished
my wife and I went back there last week to see them
help with our grandson
help them prepare to make their move to California
We had a free Saturday afternoon
took the subway up to 116th and Broadway
walked through the old neighborhood
first time in a long time
found its sidewalks now washed
plantings and little curved iron fences around the trees
where dogs used to shit
we checked our old place its facade scrubbed clean
And over by Morningside Drive
on a building where one of my professors lived
ivy had grown, covering the walls, fresh green-emerald leaves
shimmering in the wind blowing softly from the river
Flowers were blooming in a garden by the front door
And above a cluster of daisies
a soft pink rose held my gaze
Nodded to me slightly gently in the breeze
Nodded again
Waited
And returned my smile
Robert Nielsen is a Carmel Valley poet, writer, and photographer. Born in Australia, he has lived, studied, worked, and traveled in a number of countries. His art is narrative and representative in nature; reflecting his perceptions, feelings, dreams and stories, and his worldwide experiences. His poetry has appeared in various anthologies, journals, and other publications; his award-winning photographs have been exhibited and included in public and private galleries and collections in the United States and other countries. He serves as a co-host of the Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Monthly Reading Series. His website: www.pilgrim-arts.com
Transcontinental Tracks, California Dreaming, July 15, 2021
Via Zoom...
Artist...
born during the Pandemic
Artist...
born during the Pandemic
