Underneath the bridge
Old bricks still hold the street
Together, as they did
Inside a younger city.
They’re unaffected by wind
Weather fronts, the rolling
Of heavy tires, the burn
Of the city’s pangs
We had walked
On them as others had… where
Train tracks sliced through
These oldest parts of the city…there
We gazed at the high grass
Growing through the gravel,
The warmer days
Further up
Where numbered streets
Take on more than one digit,
The bricks have given way
To multi-layered streets.
You moved closer,
a few blocks away
As if our bodies’ nearness….
A simple result of city sections
Today, I try not to trip
On potholes, where rain
Seeks the original bricks
Below the higher layers.
I can’t help but feel porous
The emotional bonding element
Passing through me,
Built of abandonment,
I can only blame myself for
That I have always blamed myself for
How long will it be, before
The rain takes me?
I hustle in rain gear just to eat
Back under the bridge
Permeable others have gathered
Like a congregation
Burning wood pallets, collecting
Makeshift tents, car parts
Bike parts…………….part-human
They once lived in the higher numbers
It seems, when their streets
washed away, they were drawn
To the immortal bricks
I am frightened to search
For my face among them
Still the grass grows high
Through the gravel, but
Only upon the last of the hottest days.
It seems that we all are afraid of seeing our own faces in places we had rather not…….:)
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Where is this?
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The photo is from the Pearl District in Portland Oregon. It is now a place where million dollar condos are sold. It used to be a section of town with abandoned railway warehouses. Thus, the bricks and rail underneath the pavement.
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did you take the photo, elan? do you take all the photos on your blog?
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No, I did not take that photo. Most of the photos I use are over 100 years old.
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I used to eat raw oysters there (Pearl District) where the homeless stayed and loved it.
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This is fab Elan. I felt completely drawn in to those immortal bricks.
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Like a congregation
Burning wood pallets, collecting
Makeshift tents, car parts
Bike parts…………….part-human
They once lived in the higher numbers
Elan, you see them too. The almost-invisible part-humans. If our faces are ever among them, I’ll look for you–at least there will be poetry. 🙂
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Glimpsing the past through a tear in the present – thought provoking!
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These lines resonated with me. I can’t help but feel porous. They once lived in the higher numbers. I appreciate the opportunity to reflect on our city and the people who reside within it. Thank you.
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Strange how simple objects or scenes can hold up a mirror to our lives…excellent verse.
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I have seen bricks like these in many places. They seem to be a common thread of humanity joining our present with our past. Wonderful images.
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There is an awesome youtube vid of old Portland merging into new Portland. Beautiful words sharing the past with the present.
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This poem brings a sense of fractured and continuous time, and the layering of the city-as-revealed in this small section in this particular place could perhaps be likened to memory (?). This poem expresses a love of place I think, creating a way of bonding with, or at least linking to, the city as a living thing.
The photograph, tied in with this poem, has a poignancy – as if it is revealing a wound, or a vulnerability.
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A lovely poem and I enjoyed the imagery used as well as the feelings infused in the verse. keep up the great poetry. Have a lovely weekend.
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Pingback: Double Dipping. – along the side of the road
Reblogged in my own kinda way here:
https://alongthesideoftheroad.wordpress.com/2016/04/05/double-dipping/
Marianne
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