6.17.2007

Staten Island Ferry 6/17/07


you’d think the sun would burn the clouds away. but it doesn’t
it just hangs and as we pass islands the whole scene seems to line up
like a mural or a painting signed and framed on the wall
grey and orange: would look nice perhaps in your four seasons

meanwhile the islands take turns to line up and the clouds don’t burn
the waves rise to kiss the dying light before they fall
the wind blankets my ears and it all seems so distant, and real

stephen wants to see the picture i took of the statue of liberty,
doesn’t seem to realize that she’s right there in front of him
still he could catch her if he could only look up but he’s looking at me
and before long, frustrated, retiring to his seat on the other side

i wonder if i’m not the guilty one for having taken it to begin with
now that i look at it, i can’t help but admire the angle the contrast
how the statue lines up she seems to be reaching pointing to the sun
or maybe above it, placing it; the puppet-master from below

it’s the coincidence that occurs every half hour of every day
Asian businessmen fix their hair and smile tight-lipped
kids in hoodies clutch their girlfriends and don’t smile at all
so distant, all you can see is her silhouette in the sun, but they all rush
to capture themselves in her context, a point of reference in time and space

maybe it’s our attempt to live forever, if not in our actions then in our footsteps
our secret way of writing on the bathroom wall I WAS HERE.
maybe we just like to take pictures, and show them to our little brother once the sun’s set.