Walk Fourteen - GREEN LIGHT

Christmas lights glimmer

in the black of early night.

Rainbows hang from

the flower boxes beneath someone’s windows,

blinking cheerfully.

The lights stretch down

into the unseen parts of the hour.

The mosaic goes on.

The unseen parts move closer into

my vision

the more my feet snatch the concrete backward.

The lights combine

into a purple orbit,

reflecting lilac

onto an (almost) naked

Cherry Blossom tree with rusty leaves.

A glaring green light,

the shape of a ball,

hangs from an apartment building,

covering the front porch in green.

Its orbit makes me think of

the light softness

of Leigh-Anne Pinnock’s singing voice;

specifically when her gentle whisper,

the light storm in her eyes,

the silent night of her tone,

are accompanied by acoustics.

“Read,

baby,

Read,”

says an ad

on the back of a moving bus

while it passes through

the red glare of more Christmas lights.

Once it passes,

standing at a cross-road,

I watch a faint, skinny cloud

Slowly move in the deep, dark sky

and then, when the street’s clear,

I walk through the clear coast,

away from the sky’s mystery.

I start to slow down

when I hear the sound

of crispy leaves rustling

on a tree

The sound fills my ears

with calm,

like an ocean pulling and pushing

away it’s own breath.

It takes me back to late afternoons

and early evenings spent

at Riis Beach in Queens, New York.

As the wind picks up

and the ice of the month

swarms the nape of my neck,

lifting my vibrant pink scarf

over my head, from my front,

I watch my shadow quickly hover

over the pink;

my small hoop earrings

and jawline disappear

once I throw the fabric overhead.

Cutting through a quiet community lot,

a new vibe holds me

and I can’t help but slow down.

naked trees shaped like hands

stand firm in the entrance

of a small building

and rusty rose bushes of soft pink

quietly move.

A row of long, slim full trees

stand in the back of a small, empty

parking lot

like bodies with joint hands,

good postures,

and firm chests.

Blocks away,

a gold shimmery sign,

the shape of a rectangle

sits outside of someone’s porch.

It says: FAITH + LOVE

And right off the curb near the sign,

before the first parked car,

an empty brown wooden chair sits.

Its emptiness is alluring

and compliments the question-less

disclosure of night,

which paradoxically withholds something…