Time
spaces:
clouds
and smoke
walkers
and riders, backs
dwindling
into landscape,
those
on the left, advancing
along
fences, their time,
before
buildings, their time,
with
levels of people in them,
separately
pacing.
Gulls
like ducks float downriver. A boat
sails
through its time.
One
crabapple, unattained,
prolongs
its season
on
a topmost branch.
I
too hold on
to
images:
a
pigeon's walk, how the head
dips
forward at each step
that
seeks the grass, how
its
brown-and-white
feathers
are patched
with
purple, how the trees
align
between breezes,
how
a man, crash helmeted,
rides
his bike, and a woman
moves
in kneepads and armpads
toward
a bench; how trust
settles
here, in the sun,
on
a promenade
reasonably
smooth.
Bike
rider pauses
to
straddle the stone lookout,
and
a woman, leashed dogs,
litter
paper in hand (before
the
public benches),
unleashes
farther on
Paddle
ball on the lawn divider.
To
my conceptual eye:
the
ball
permanently
in air.
Late
afternoon coolness
draws
through the leaves another time.
DH
Melhem has written four books of poetry, one novel, two critical
works on Black poets, and a creative writing workbook. She has
also provided chapters in seven books, including critical works
and an encyclopedia, had a musical drama produced, and published
over 50 essays. She has read across the country, in venues ranging
from the Library of Congress and New York’s Town Hall to
libraries, universities, schools and cafes.
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