Neighborhood Walk #76
Concrete neglect.
A nomadic art show
of vandals, visionaries and city works.
This time, one tagged a snail on the wall
with a speech bubble that said “Ok”,
rebar protruding from one lone column,
the Temple of Artemis —
we pass the lot we pass—
next to the restaurant, conveniently
named Ephesus. No one enters.
The mailman is new to our route
handing over a vacant slip and saying
“I don’t know who lives here.”
For a moment we forget we exist.
Today:
more kids than dogs,
plums strewn like billiards balls,
figs too firm but bell-shaped,
and we looked up the bird
with the red-dappled breast.
You were ecstatic
holding its name in your mouth.
These neighborhood poems are exercises in noticing, a skill that increasingly feels like cartography to me. Similar to the distinction between hearing and listening, there is a gap between the act of observing and the act of noticing. I think the space between involves a mapping of what you think/know to be true and how it relates to the context of you. I’ve found poetry to be a perfect vessel for turning observations into noticing. Anyway, I’ve probably published ~4 of these little neighborhood walks, but I write them fairly often to varying degrees of beauty/insight.
You should try one sometime! What caught your eye/ear/nose? Touch something you don’t usually touch (rotting fruit, walk with a fallen stick, rub a leaf between your fingers). What surprising connection does that make to another part of your experience? Try collapsing time and taking a few moments from throughout your day/week and putting them next to each other. Would love to see it in the comments :)
I’m currently working on a few longer poems and collections which I’m excited about. I’m primarily thinking about rivers and dams and the idea of migration. I’m sure that some of the thinking is rooted in recent political rhetoric but I also read this book review (and some of the book) which interrogates the notion of an invasive/native species and pushed my thinking.
Ultimately, movement is a natural need and a natural right. I went backpacking this weekend and a friend of mine is currently hiking the Appalachian Trail (you can do it!). It’s strange how putting your world on your back and being transient often feels like a homecoming.
As I’ve mentioned before, while in Türkiye we bought a few rugs (how could we not?). These rugs are now immobile fixtures of our home but the nomadic tribes originally used them as saddle blankets for camels and portable floors for tents.
More to come.
With Gratitude,