Many of these poems will be of the city of Schenectady from early 1900 to the present.


Sunday, February 6, 2011


Dancing in Sunlight

A fog lifts to expose
a morning sunrise,
she is as naked as the sea…
she twirls in circles,
her hair drapes along her
back and lifts up, away
from her shoulders with
a gentle – gust of wind.

As if she walked across
water, her legs lightly
touch sea shells, shells
caught between her toes
as her hands brush specs
of sand too near her eyes.

On her knee’s she digs
holes in sand to cover her
nude body, and stands,
small pieces of color shine
on her body like a burst
of sunshine.

The ocean spins her,
throws her to her left, then
backward – she lost her
resting place.

The morning moon lingers,
slowly evaporates, spilling
colors of orange, red, and
a hint of purple.

She dances on white foam,
at the waters edge - to bring
back treasures lost.

Sea gulls collect and clutter up
the shore, above scattered
mounds of seaweed, breathing.

She too dances over
litter strewn through seaweed,
but a rising tide will take
away her space, as her eyes
watch when birds disappear.

She continues to search for
lost treasures, but - sand has
fallen through her fingers…

Inside near her open window,
on a metal stand. a piece
of ice shrinks,
breaking the silence.

A clock, large enough to see,
a sink to wash, a tub
to bathe; with help, she
knows it’s Wednesday.

She hears the hiss of a
sprinkler, and two voices
laughing in the distance…

Her feet push, to keep her
rocker, rocking.

wraps around her face,
kissing her lips – blue eyes
shed tears, her white
hair glitters…. as if it were
water - on a beach, and
she hums, smiles -
resisting tomorrow. . .

She captures light, traps it
between her thin fingers, rubs
her face as if sand left precise
pebbles from the wind.

At noon, the smell of meat
loaf, instead of soiled sheets.
Her finger presses a button
when a red light flashes.

The thud of silverware
on plastic plates, a crumpled
napkin in her hand, forgetting
to wipe her face.

Nearby, a black crow lands
on the limb of a maple, drags
its limb downward.

She dances on the lawn
and the black crow flies.
The next Monday, birds
gathered to rest outside
her window ledge.

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