Waiting for the Staten Island ferry on Tuesday afternoon,
I am overcast and scattered showers.
How can I describe it?
I left my home for home to see my brother who left home to come home but briefly.
There are children involved. Two long haired little boys who share my face and my sister’s face and their mother’s face and my father’s.
I am going to see my father’s mother and sit in her kitchen with my brother’s sons and we will probably eat cold cut sandwiches.
Lately, the poems have been pouring. It is hard to tell how much home has to do with it. My father’s mother has never seen my kitchen, and does not know what the East Village means.
The closer we are the farther.
The ferry is filling up.
I am dizzy from too much coffee
And there is a pigeon trapped, slapping its wings against the windows.
We push through the water together.
We take pictures together.
I am going from home to home.
We are going from Manhattan to Staten together.
Tuesday is always early afternoon and often overcast. Wisdom will be justified. There are lots of lovers on this boat, and European sneakers, cameras, hair clips, backpacks.
I will only be halfway home when we dock. I can’t know who else is going where.
Sometimes we exit and get right back on.
Sometimes going home is too hard.
I pass the Statue of Liberty again. She shines and is dull.
I never sat on the other side.
The rain is gone, the boat slows.