Poem
Eleanor on 72nd Street
Published in Volume 22 Issue 3 | Comments 0
Eleanor on 72nd Street
We were playing chess
On a dry stone table.
She behind us, tall white elegant
A souvenir of heart on 72nd street.
Itinerant workers eat their fish rolls on the round
Under her feet after a morning on rusty hoists.
In the playground children swing to and fro
King to bishop, then the pawns––oh the pawns!
She speaks freely, fears no one, worships no man
Her tears dry as yesterday’s rain.
Her arms look long enough to embrace 8 billion
Who else has arms like that––
As resonant as the cure in any promise?
She believed it takes four wishes,
As surely as allegory shoves history along
After centuries of red herrings.
