Published on U Tube by Alice Clagett
O'Connor By Ed Rosenthal
It was just another day, the last time I saw
O’Connor. The steel trestle arching
over roiled green waters to the reedy peninsula
of stilt houses where he lived. Him taking off
for the walkways on the marsh. Grey seagulls
squawking on wobbly handrails.
A smile lifted his dimples to his eyes, “Hey,
I’m not coming back to school. ”
I should have hugged him, pulled his jacket to
cover his open neck from salt winds,
kissed him like boys don’t,
for the shocked English teacher’s face,
the curses scribbled on the black board,
the Principal’s shrieks in the hallway.
When snows turn the marshes white the
stalks of salt reeds crack with shanty rumors.
Barely heard sneakers in wet bay snow. Melted
footprints on the slushy boardwalk.
Hushed whispers say,
‘When Summer burns the green reeds gold,
he’ll b e gone.’
"Sweet Eyed Boy" by Ed Rosenthal
I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
Or heard or felt came not from myself,
And there I found myself more truly and more strange.
From “Tea at the Palaz of Hoon” by Wallace Stevens
Where you fell in by accident, Boy,
was once a slide to the past,
taken by rocks in a super ride
that ended in a mud bath.
Your only respite from climbs and falls
was that purple place.
You can’t get back to that canyon
of lavender stone
where you first felt like
a child again,
to see talcum powder sands blow
over grey gumball mounds,
But fallen through the bleached
sheep bone signage
of miracle geology park,
a wide eyed boy explorer.
Wear your t-shirted face of six
to slide the orange faced stones
grown 100,000,000 years ago.
Climb up the busted monster’s mouth
of million year old crowns.
Cholla cacti surprise you
along the twirling arroyo,
like those boys running games
of housing project tag,
who caught you in passages.