Archive
01/24/11 - (1)
Winter Print
After sleeping, four nights, In the heights of one of Manhattan's thinnest obelisks, Delighting in Broadway's Velma, Frankie, and Elphaba, Filling our fantasies' playhouse stages, with song and dance, We're beneath the sheets at a nondescript motel in Wellsville (Adjacent to a drive-thru ATM and a Dunkin' Donuts And one of only three in this Allegheny County village), The town a last-century scene of Gothic and Victorian abodes Sheltering existences in fragile reconciliation with the elements, Which creeped, this recently elapsed evening, Into the minus-twenty-degree grip of an Alberta clipper.
Just getting here, amidst the threat of sleet and snow, Was, itself, a feat of no mean accomplishment, Especially in a tiny, buffeting-prone turbo-prop plane Lurching, due northwest, from New York City, to Rochester, Not knowing whether either takeoff or landing Or the two-hour drive, over icy roads, would be possible. And going home poses just as many uncertainties. Nonetheless, now four days native to this small-town life, We're elated we've made our hibernal odyssey, To see your youngest son and his family, In this timeless Currier-and-Ives-come-alive winter print.
01/24/11 - (1)
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