Ellis

thin fingers, paper hands tensely
clutching a worn leather handle
cold toes tucked into solid boots
have seen some wear, walk to the coast
their lives in flight, diamonds
adeptly sewn into the hems of pants and skirts
pupils focused at the
dim point of horizon, knowing
ships come, to take them to elsewhere

they land in the city of old and new
they lay down the rhythm of jazz
they bicker and carve their place in spite of eachother
they welcome the misfits for schadenfreude, praise tension, angst

their weary children
know their place behind
the birth of new york, the better child
deferring to the cage, not whistling
nor even taking flight in steel
they think the point of argument is something real
the glass window, the missing sky
to gaze up and see no cloud
angry voices, reminds them
of the jaundiced home these vagabonds had found themselves
how unadventerous they are!
waiting for new york to seek them out
hoping
it cares as much as it shames
believing
the serendipity of collision

when the journey was carried in boats
and the waves turned the stomach
those paper hands held fast
to even colder railings
where were you? a dream in the eye
and you think the world is small
but your home is a fixed location
the only dot on the map

the city changes
the city won’t remember
your ancestors
their frugal labored fruit
their 5 block world with its own district
it swallows them whole

and if you fall, miss the rhythm?
and if you want to breathe without the soot?
and if you taste the pavement when you hunger for the earth?
good luck to you then, the smug would say
you’ve earned it
the only world you need to know
won’t need you now