How scrappy and messy are my associations with the city I love.
My grandfather's hardscrabble existence in Brooklyn defying the law selling firecrackers in his candy store.
My mother on bended knee begging the police not to take him away.
They took him put him in the paddy wagon booked him
but then let him go. He returned to his eking-out-a-living life
vending Snickers and egg creams fending off anti-Semitic jostlings going to hear Caruso when he could
crooning "Je crois entendre encore" to his family when he dared slinging watercolors on a canvas to reveal a heart which cared.
The Scent of Breath ‘
I cannot forget what I was never Meant to remember, the scent of breath frees Me from the encumbrance of words. I re Nounce this claim and all its renown, willing Ly invoking your good name and seeking Comfort, the sober good sense you once pro Vided so unselfishly. Why did you Leave me the encumbrance of words so Very long ago? Why did you abscond With the scent of breath and what draws you so Near to me now when what was forgotten Arises with all the irony and Ire of a muffler choked round my throat? I would dash to you in the most brilli Ant way if I could. The fuchsia would blind In its fury if it had some justi Fication to upheave itself from its Lung droop and acquire the scent of breath.
