Tuesday, March 01, 2011

3/1/11

Sitting beneath an old oak tree
Fifth Avenue, One-Hundred-First Street
Winter's almost over
The park is showing signs of rebirth
Readers on benches
Joggers on paths
Shoots amidst the
hillside scrub
I'm eating my breakfast—
peanuts mixed with raisins
You're across the street,
upstairs, on a table
with an IV in your arm
Counting this, you'll have had
nine surgeries
over the past three years
I'd say it averages out to
three per year, but it
hasn't been that neat
We spent last Summer
together at Cornell-Presbyterian
It was your heart then
now it's your left eye
Shivering in the cold, I
stand to zip my coat

A siren shatters
the quiet; I wait for news
on a sun warmed bench

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