We lost the sun, kept on going.
Shirley Chisholm State Park, wild beauty built on top of garbage. Airplanes tilting taking off from JFK, one after another over our heads…
Shirley Chisholm State Park, wild beauty built on top of garbage.
Airplanes tilting taking off from JFK,
one after another over our heads, the children
only realizing their presence as we approached the parking lot.
I thought, “I wonder what it’s like to be going.
I wonder what the air inside a plane feels like.”
Reedy plants and wild grass and animals out of sight,
except for the diving birds, dipping down playing peek-a-boo
as we ate Rollin’ Roasters sitting on slabs of cold concrete.
One out of four of us was grumpy, walking faster than the rest,
eager to get back to the car, or something else maybe,
having worn the wrong coat.
Later, at Ikea, I moved through the place
like a heat-seeking missile. Searching in and around shortcuts,
face hot from the wind and the stress and the mask.
I thought “Will what I just bought become the foundation for a state park?”