POSTSCRIPT FOR A POSTCARD FROM NEW YORK
A symbolic backbone -
Of esthetic clones -
All steel, glass, and stone.
Born of vision, sweat, politics, big money -
The apple of The Big Apple's eye -
Of motherhood and apple pie.
There within - the City's mix - so vibrant - so alive -
Mr. Jordan's shoes, designer suits, Filene's ties - Ride an
elevator to the sky -
Buy a half-price ticket to a Broadway show -
Step forward - don't impede the flow!
From the apogee
Grand symbols of liberty -
Welcome to the USA -
On this fine September day!
Predicting a Southwesterly breeze -
A temperature of 70/ -
Visibility as far as the eye can see -
A New York day to die for -
But not a day to die.
Now my heart is here beneath your rubble -
Hopes surrendered -
My soul in His hands.
Falling!
I dreamed of yesterday
of friends, of me -
Most, of family -
Of what must be.
But not alone!
A rainbow collage of people all around me -
United in our moment of tragedy -
From China to Spain -
California to Maine
Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Queens.
With New Yorkers who loved the track at Saratoga Springs -
Have viewed the Adirondacks from a front porch swing -
Have ridden Harleys abreast on a Catskill lane -
Were the Sunfish sailors of Lake Champlain.
Every parent of every child -
Every father's daughter -
Every mother's son.
Now all just one.
Alas - our epithet
Spoken by a postcard of your past.
FRANKLIN R. THEIS
September, 2001
