Our poet today is Erica W. Jamieson
written by Erica W. Jamieson
Things we saw in procession: One pimp, at least two, but I’m thinking three, hookers that my father may have helped once. Four freeways, a slew of plywood boarded store fronts. No less than ten tattoo makers. One black very old Caddie missing the front fender. A ghost town harboring magnificent burnt out mansions on weeded lawns planted with broken bits of fence, a dead cat, three boys shaded by low riding hats, a market flanked by large leather coated security dudes. An old woman pushing an empty grocery cart, two small children without shoes. An Asian woman running. A large well kept catholic cemetery, a winged angel crying on stone, three obelisks with beautifully carved crosses. An open grave, earth to sky, an estranged daughter, a tearful second wife. An imported Rabbi. And we say:
O’ She Shalom, bi ma tov hu ya a she shalom.