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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on August 15, 2006, at 17:42:32
Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores
The lavender scent rising from her pores
Causes the alley’s brittle bricks to blush,
Pools of vomit and urine painted on asphalt
Ripple at her body heat’s sharp rush.
The leather-clad, fighting mad knights
Of the South Bronx all know to hush,
And stigmata on the charred church altars
All simultaneously start to gush.Mad Manhattan monks all make their rounds
Asking burning ashcans a supplicant’s prayer,
But they settle for a hit of Jack Daniels
When they find no divine answers there.
They gather in cardboard temple boxes
And simply sit in silence and stare,
All convinced that the hidden holy places
Could redeem them if they only knew where.From a fire escape clinging to life in Brooklyn,
A single salty tear hits the ground,
It erupts onto cracked and wracked concrete
With a sobbing maiden’s mournful sound.
She glances to where two towers fell
And just like that the sacred place is found.
She’s dressed like a banshee in her ragged robes
But, hell, they match her thorny crown.She recalls an avalanche of memos blowing
Across the Brooklyn Bridge like snow,
Bar charts and reports and office cartoons,
Where the hell did all those gospels go?
The south Manhattan sky’s an amputee,
Though a stranger would never know,
And five years later the land lays fallow still
As if it no longer has the will to grow.
Posted by susan47 on August 15, 2006, at 20:49:54
In reply to Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores, posted by Atticus on August 15, 2006, at 17:42:32
Thank you for sharing this gift Atticus.
Posted by Atticus on August 16, 2006, at 11:55:05
In reply to Re: Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores, posted by susan47 on August 15, 2006, at 20:49:54
Many thanks, Susan. This year more than in the past -- perhaps due to the Oliver Stone film and the Heathrow airliner plot -- the emphemeral malaise that inevitably drifts like the final fragments of a shredding dream over the city as 9/11 approaches seems somehow more palpable. Several of my friends have told me of crying jags that seem to materialize from nowhere. I know how they feel -- it is very much like the onset of a depressive episode. 9/11 in New York has become a religious observance of sorts -- but not one necessarily associated with any particular faith. It is more about the rituals of mourning associated with all faiths. As an Irish Catholic, I suppose I bring my own religious lexicon to the task of trying to express the inexpressable. Atticus
Posted by Toph on August 17, 2006, at 14:45:41
In reply to Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores, posted by Atticus on August 15, 2006, at 17:42:32
For many visitors to the Big Apple they are left with fond recollections of Central Park, the Empire State Building, Broadway, Yankee Stadium, the Statue of Liberty and the like. For my wife who visited 'ground zero' the week after 9/11 she cannot rid her memory of that scent, that horrible indelible scent.
Good to see that you are back doing what you do so well Atticus.
Posted by Atticus on August 17, 2006, at 20:02:49
In reply to Re: Lavender Scent Rising From Her Pores » Atticus, posted by Toph on August 17, 2006, at 14:45:41
Hi Toph,
I remember that charnel house smell -- the realization that I was inhaling an open-air abbatoir -- all too well. I could never seem to wash it completely out of my hair and clothes. I began to wonder if I was imagining it for a while -- and I can still conjure its ghost at a moment's notice. Thanks for the greeting. Atticus
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