Golden hour (from Remembering you as I go walking) (Boxwood Star Press, 2019)

From Avenue A to Abingdon Square

I traced my tracks towards the setting sun

on one of the loveliest afternoons one week before the summer solstice,

stopping only for vegan ice cream

handmade by adorable, tattooed, black eye-lined angel girls

who top off every sundae with coconut whipped cream and an organic black cherry.

That made the trip worth taking. 

The LES still rang its punk bell since the early ‘80s. 

Young punks still piss and moan loudly on the street under tagged tenement buildings 

as the old-timers and confused tourists escaped into Russ & Daughters and Katz’s.

On Orchard Street, I was feeling nostalgic, 

but since I misplaced the boutique where I brought my wedding dress twelve years earlier, 

I had no business remaining there.

4th Street brought me to Cooper Square, NoHo, Lafayette, and NYU, 

as the sky slowly turned golden.

I wanted some more day time in the East Village 

before darkness claimed its hold upon the city, 

so I walked to Bleecker, a special street; 

(sometimes I wish it was a man, so I can both fuck and romance it).

As the sky grew bands of blue, gray and pink, 

I rode to M12 home, chasing the last, magnificent dregs 

of this golden hour, of this golden day, to evening:

crossing under the High Line, 

lapping by the mighty Hudson, 

towards home, to the middle of the city.

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