At Princeton Commons
I cannot name the stone used to construct
the monuments that surround me.
Long ago I forgot the difference
between spire and turret, I’m sure I once knew
what to call the columns that stand insistently
erect before the marble halls.
Now, the distinction between Corinthian and Ionic
has washed into a seldom accessed region of my memory.
Perhaps years ago I could have deciphered the genus
of the trees that line the commons by looking
at the pattern of the bark, but now I can only distinguish
between deciduous and evergreen.
Here the buildings disregard the budding trees,
Birds, perched on slate roofs, trill indifferently
and rootless ivy fixes itself securely to stone facades.
On Nassua street the cars crawl through the crowds
passed shops, people speak
in languages I’ve never learned
on their way to places I may never go.
How to Remain Silent
Practice for years
First in pews, genuflect,
bow your head,
feel your mother’s prodding elbow
stiff in your side if you speak.
Later, climb into the car,
Stare into the darkness
as they pass the bottle,
the car swerving over asphalt.
Listen to the chorus of horns
splitting tenuous August air,
say nothing.
And if your own daughter brings home
a blue-haired boyfriend?
Feign disinterest.
Your mother thinks you’ve gained weight?
Stiffen your back and smile.
Simply nod each time
your brother asks for a loan,
at cocktail parties smile awkwardly
at jokes that begin a black, a jew and a polack,
tell yourself again there’s no fighting
that sort of thinking.
About the author:
My work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Inkwell, U.S. 1 Worksheets and Gargoyle as well as several others. I received my MFA from Stonecoast/USM. I live and teach in central New Jersey.
