Thoughts on May:
In the month of May…as the full moon rises over fields of hay, yet unharvested…the air is pink and lush with heavy crabapple. And the dirt, the endless lawn dirt with layers upon layers of rocks…rising up out of the soil as waves. What will be hounded, how many of these stones will be thrown into piles or dragged away and reburied away from our property? As we build our garden…a place rife with joy, boundaries…peace.
And yet they rise…in the month of May…as the full moon settles over the sad Avenues…B, C and D at the crossroads of Saint Paul Boulevard and despair…the streets and alleys lying deep and forgotten in the middle of the Flower City’s sorrow.
And the air, the endless river air, thick with heating cement and cooking oil and leftovers from the House of Mercy…rising waves of a fetid breeze…who among them will be hounded, thrown into piles or jail or dragged away to other neighborhoods where memories are buried and plans dashed?
And yet they rise…building a garden or forging a weapon…in the merry month of May…
