I made several images in Brooklyn the other day. I was most struck by this one which I’ve shared for you above. The quiet of it all. The rainy haze which slightly masks the city in the background. The chaos of the broken fence, the trash. The texture of the raindrops on the surface of the water. The barbed wire, with its nearly perfect circular pattern. It all seemed so poignant. As though it were shouting in silence. I’m not sure that makes sense. It isn’t a logical sentence, but I think it has all the right words.
The image has me working on a poem. My first planned poem, if you’d like to think of it that way. Usually my poems come to me, quietly or in a shouting manner and so I write them provided I have a piece of paper or my laptop nearby. I think the title will be called A City so Fiercly Loved. I’d like it to speak about the passion residents of New York have for their city. The spoken devotion and and loyalty they show to their respective boro. Yet when you walk around these places, you see that that love might not be as devotional as you might expect. When there is garbage and disrepair everywhere, how can you say a place is loved?