As if the morning were a river
Against which they contend.
This is not sentiment
filled with the disdain
of human pity.
They turn in the mind
they turn
beyond the human order
One scratches his head and yawns.
Another rakes a hand
Through slick mats of thinning hair.
They blink and the street litter moves
its slow liturgical way.
A third falls back
bracing himself on an arm.
At river's edge, the deer stand poised.
One breaks the spell of his reflection
with a hoof, and, struggling,
begins to cross.
...Morning at Elizabeth Arch by Joe Weil, Elizabeth in What Remains
I wanted to finish up this month with a poem that I have returned to a number of times (well, not as many times as Leaves of Grass, but many times!) because it is New Jersey, and simple, and beautiful. Joe is a friend and a voice that I listen to because he is like us most of the time, though his words can be somewhat more ethereal.
When I was a kid and had no money, I used to take the bus into the City and sit on the steps of St. Pat's Cathedral and just watch people go by. I would attend the noon Mass, grab a slice and then go back home to Weehawken. I just loved the people because they were so interesting and varied. Joe Weil, like Robert Frost who had a "lover's quarrel with the world," loves people, too. The love is there, even when it is a struggle.
I hope that whoever read these pieces for National Poetry Month enjoyed them and connected once in a while. We have a lot to be proud of in New Jersey.
Keep reading and writing,
Maureen
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