Glen Oaks and Other Ruminations E-Book

Mitchell Isaac Friedman

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Glen Oaks and Other Ruminations is a compilation of thoughts and images present themselves to me as I am in the car driving, or just sitting with nothing much to do.

Leseprobe

Mitchell Isaac Friedman

Glen Oaks and Other Ruminations

For Ilene, Danielle, and Jordan Friedman In loving memory of my parents William and Lillian Friedman BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

A Walk

Cool, clear, sweet fragrance,

leaves rustle in gentle breeze;

early summer walk.

Ghosts of Glen Oaks

Traveling familiar roads,

I see the Glen Oaks I remember—

a ghostly veil of

what once was

overshadowing

what now is.

McDonald’s and Dunkin Donuts

seen fuzzily

through the specter

Of the Garden Bake Shop.

I remember walking home

with my father,

fighting with him

over which one of us would

get the end of the rye bread.

I wander to the corner

where Union Turnpike crosses

255th Street.

An apparition of

the old Century Theater

haunts  Rite Aide

(and just up Union, toward 260th,

Duane Reade is haunted

by Woolworth’s ghost).

I turn my steps on 255th

toward the court--

the epicenter of

my youth.

Although they have

long since disappeared

I still see

the chains that surrounded

those grassy areas

that we trampled

in games of

touch football, red rover, or statue.

As I walk by, I think how sad

that no children are there playing

(and this a sunny summer day).

My mind still sees inside

the corner downstairs apartment,

in the upper court.

My mother in the kitchen making,

stew for Sunday dinner.

There are the ghosts of boys

playing stoop ball

in that upper court, and

of men sitting ‘round the card table.

As I stand at the foot of the court,

I watch a mental hologram

of a young boy sitting on the ground

crying—he had just fallen;

one of his roller skates

flew off and landed

on his shin.

Ten weeks he spent in that cast

as the fracture healed.

West along 75th Avenue,

to Little Neck Parkway.

Turning right

I head North

toward the Grand Central.

Passing the old farm house,

Now a renovated landmark,

I amble past a crowd

of shadow school children,

on their ways home,

past that farm house

that I had always believed

abandoned and haunted.

Up ahead stands the school,

I pass the playground

(When did they put in that pool?

When did they put down

the rubber padding?)

I remember a childhood

with no protective padding,

and monkey-bars

made of iron--

they hurt like hell

whenever I fell

and knocked my head

against them.

Now they are gone,

along with the swings

and the benches.

Now it’s just the pool.

And the smaller playground:

where did the sprinkler go?

I walk on.

Coming to 260th Street,

just before the Grand Central Parkway,

I stand at the foot of Suicide Hill.

There used to be cliffs