i am from (the hudson, part I) i am from a city on the hudson green trees envy me because i walk with the legs they dream of this river is like sap in my veins rooting me to this land touching me with beauty chaining me with invisible threads my prayers go out to the river dropping like child thrown pebbles and then forgotten as waves devour the ripples of my concern i envy the trees the simplicity of their capture they need the land until death calls there is no question only dreams i have the possibility of distancing myself the physical foot follows foot ability but my roots dig far into this soil clenching at bedrock refusing to give me wings tidal. (the hudson, part II) the problem with poetry is that sometimes the truth changes there was a time i wrote about the hudson and how it was the blood in my veins how i couldn’t leave its banks how it held me there chained it was truth i ricocheted away and back ebbing and flowing like its tides it was truth but my truth has changed i have aged and moved i am 3000 miles distant and cannot go back what was once life-sustaining feels more like poison tainting me still breaking down my shores and sanity breaking down myself this is my truth i haven’t lied it’s just that the truth is tidal this is home (the hudson, part III) my toes feel that they are made of ice crystalised, cold they reach into unstable bedrock avoiding faults avoiding fault this is a new home a new place to be and grow my roots are shallow my toes clutch the riverbank 3000 miles away, still but here i have planted myself like a flag here i have chosen to call home here i grow and here i have planted new seeds a new life my son only knows of the hudson river through stories through maps through pictures on the internet he doesn’t know about tidal estuaries and the indescribable beauty of my river on a late september day when the reds and oranges look like fire and life across the mountain side he doesn’t know what it’s like to shovel driveways and slide on ice he doesn’t know the endless grey of winter when the sun is nothing but a figment or the joy of warming weather in the spring the first flowers green and delicate poking through the thawing ground my childhood river is a fairytale a story told when i want him to learn something morality tales and dragons my past is only a storybook setting and silicon valley is so real where water comes in waves of drought rivers the size of creeks on a good day fade into fossils just memories of what was his home is here we are planting his roots deep finding nourishment and bedrock growing down past the moving plates of earth reaching for its molten core this is home the hudson only a shadow in my blood this is home i sing of the ocean and water the trees
This poem is written as a triptych, a single poem built in three parts. In this case the poems can be used separately, but form a much fuller picture with all three taken together. In honesty I will tell you that the first two were written long ago (the first being over 12 years ago, when I still lived in New York). If, for the LiveJournal Idol game you feel that I should only be judged on *new* work, feel free to vote for (or not) the last poem. That is new and shiny. Also, it's hard to record a 5 minute poem!