Literary interlude

Mass Cards #17

 

As to what

                        is left

that is our only

way home over what is already gone

 

to a painted head

of Alexander Hamilton

 

                                    hanging

inside clouds about the falls

on the walls of a cartoon bank

 

            our way out

of not knowing what body is missing

to restore nothing that can be named

as they are a prayer, no longer left to us

 

and all that might be sun in late November

glowing gold and crimson in the bend of a

few trees singing with birds on Cianci Street

 

and feel the warmth on this window

just heating up before a road to St. Michael’s

            church

 

the screens of the jail and a star a thousand

years above Paterson

 

—Michael Reardon

From the anthology A Place Like Paterson, edited by June Avignone, Lincoln Springs Press, 1992

 

Comments

[atk]

SO SAD AND BEAUTIFUL

[Elizabeth]

This is a lovely poem and an very nice tribute! I recently took a stab at poetry, but with lines like "moss on the moon," it was an epic fail.

[jeanne]

this is turning into a very long interlude...

[Nikki]

Thank you for sharing this. It's beautiful.