People
everywhere. Horns blaring, the bulk of my briefcase pulling me even faster into
the crowd now crossing Fifth Avenue, my feet landing soundlessly on the
sidewalk. Amid one of the busiest intersections in Manhattan everyone seems to
hurl in direction, as the faces of strangers begin to now part like the
widening waters of the Red Sea. My arms swing, urging me forward in delicate
purpose. The stone perched lions are having trouble keeping pace with my stride,
as they guild the entrance to the New York City Library. My hand over my
briefcase, my face, wearing a symbol of content.
My thirst turns to something
more, a dry heaviness lodged in the center of my throat. I sit down on the
steps so deliberately; the lions lend a muffled roar. Fending my water bottle
to my lips, I satisfy the monster of my heat exhaustion. Condensation now saturates
my light green chiffon blouse as it drips profusely from my water bottle,
running down my arm, wetting my exposed fingers. I dab the wet on the area
between my breasts.
The iron gate of heat works it's way methodically back into
my throat, as I sip water, just to further oblige the throngs of it all,
tossing it to peril. I hold my scarf; wipe my forehead, then fold it carefully backs
to the inner of my briefcase. If I could, I would wantonly lie down in the
fountain baring my naked flesh under streams of cool water. Faces starring back
at me, as intersections all cross my path. The stagnant late June air of
Manhattan hangs over all of us, polluting out skin and out thoughts.
Every
ounce of who we each are has now been made palpable by the cause and effect of
why we are each here. At the corner of fifth avenue a woman's wrinkles augment
the authority she holds in the lessons of life on the street, as rivets of
water drip from her underarms. I take out my notebook, and with slanted
handwriting, I date my journal page, observations, June 23, 2014....
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