Virginia

by Jane Rice

for Ed

I'd like to show you the park and Fulton Street
walk again, just the four of us
show you the ocean at Ocean Beach—
horizon level as a window sill with the sky
thrown open to the light…
and tell you it's not easy to gauge distance or depth
when sadness opens like a night bloom
abundant, singular, shocking pink,
opens like a string of breaths,
what I thought I could trust,
when sadness opens like a voice and
crushes you between flat, tiny words,
and sadness opens like delicate droplets of rain
and still more sadness opens,
a single seed carried great distances
before it bursts…

I keep thinking you're alive and well…in New York
just gave us the slip in the grandest city of all
where steel lives forever
tunnels and climbs — never stops
bursts street-level
bold, unflinching, high-rising
pins a sagging sky.
Shadows lean in unison
cast a city all their own
and high above the hum and roar
a thousand, twilight windows
flash mosaic smiles.

—from our September 2000 Newsletter

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