A warm December, Pearl Harbor Day.
Pale & luminous radiance
suffuses the primary colors
of the workmen’s big machinery
in the river (below Franklin Bridge).
Dazzling maternal uncle
Jim’s birthday – a Ravlin
clé to the mystery. Mrs. Elledge
added those little busts of Bach,
Mozart, & Beethoven
to my piano-lesson
collection (when I finished each book);
I loved her. Jim waltzed Agnes,
the Viennese musician’s
daughter, around Lincoln
Center – while his own jeune fille was
in the shrouds of late-adolescent
angst, despair. O
Juliet... swallowed at last
by Frisco Bay (agenbite
of inwit, James). The pearl in the harbor
was a vivid soul, before
that fall; maybe somewhere
the wind still ruffles her black hair.
The soul, like a robin redbreast, wavers
high on its dogwood branch
over each day’s routine
avalanche. Hunts for life-savers.
Franklin Ave. Bridge