XIII.
“I did not die”
I did not die, I did not remain apart from
the dead
I followed in my father’s footsteps
instead
I lost myself among the woodsorrel
among the field madder and
the wild daffodil
Last night I had pleasurable dreams
and am now the more bound up
by imagining
Spring—the pink
blossoms beneath
my feet I flatten
as I walk to the Hudson
Busy street, scaffolding, half-bare trees in
early season
Of what did I need reminding?
How much space there is
in just one person’s spirit?
This city is packed
An endless expanse of brick
and gray arcs of metal
What it must have been like before
all the people
Church bells mingling sweetly in the air
with the lilting song of a street vendor
Flowers, couples, families
Puppy dogs. Strange entities—
old woman hocking leather goods
man carving marionettes from wood
There is no more to the telling
Except, perhaps, one memory
I call truly beautiful,
that single spring night, the air full
with a new year starting gently, warm air
driving out memory of dark
winter’s fear
And in the daisy of my mind—
a new life.
It is a joy to be human
To feel water on my skin
I don’t know how to catch my breath
but know I can
The weather’s warm again
In the end not one of us will
go unnoticed
…
Andrew Tye is from a town named Temple. He believes all humans are poets. He performs his forthcoming book My Son as a one-man show in NYC. He aims to share the book and the show with national audiences.