Perhaps a city is a living thing. Each city has its own personality, after all.
Los Angeles is not Vienna. London is not Moscow. Chicago is not Paris. Each city is a collection of lives and buildings and it has its own personality.
So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.
-Old Man from "The Sandman" by Neil Gaiman
Poetry from the Elm City: Rudy's Ballad
Published Tuesday, December 27, 2005 by Starry Saltwater Rose | E-mail this post
I wrote this, originally, for Lenny, my fiance, as part of a collection of poems I gave him for Valentine's Day, 2004
Rudy’s Ballad
A man left Maine with a limp and a broken heart.
He followed the thin line of highway down the coast
and found New Haven. Now he sleeps inside her
and, on summer days, walks her womb with wonder.
A girl left an island with dreams and hope her burden.
She followed the traffic of the air, got in a taxi cab
and found New Haven. Now she sleeps inside her
and, on summer days, walks her womb with wonder.
A man and a girl, in their mutual travels, find the corner
of Elm and Howe, find a small bar with familiar faces.
One night, on the first of the year, they find each other.
They drink, climb trees and tumble chastely into bed.
In all they have found, they find they have lost things:
He’s lost his pain and she’s lost her defenses,
they have lost their hearts within each other,
so life must be spent finding them again.
A man left Maine and a girl left an island, following
chance and running from lives that proved too small,
finding New Haven. Now they sleep inside her
and, on summer days, will walk her womb with wonder.
About me
- I'm Starry Saltwater Rose
- From New Haven, Connecticut, United States
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